Fullmetal Alchemist: The Wheel of Aeviternity
by Peyton Helix
Summary: 2003 series, post-CoS. A personal attempt to narratively link the 2003 'verse with the manga/Brotherhood 'verse. The Elrics chase Huskisson's uranium bomb. Mustang and his team take on a strange new cult. A plot to change both worlds forever is in motion, and the Gate of Truth is the key. Cover image by Melvin Santos.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 _Let me tell you a story._

 _In another age, long ago, the world was ending, and almost all things upon it had been destroyed._

 _Amidst the chaos, an old man wandered alone, the last living human in the world. No matter where he went, he found nothing else alive, and he despaired. Then, wearied and near-death, he came upon a fig tree, and a smiling, beatific child sitting beneath it._

 _The child offered the old man rest for his exhaustion. It opened its mouth and the old man was sucked in, down into the child's stomach. There he saw the whole world, and all living things within it, stretching on forever._

 _For a hundred years he walked through the world in the stomach, his strength and love of life growing as it did. At the end of those hundred years, a mighty gust took him out of the child's stomach, through its mouth, and back out under the fig tree._

 _Having restored the old man, the child revealed its true divine nature as the being through which the lifeless world would be restored, and it bestowed enlightenment on him. The old man transcended time itself, and through the divine child the world and all life in it was made anew._

 _And that old man is said to wander the earth even now, never without action, be it subtle or grand._

* * *

The events that were to unfold had many beginnings. Some of it began several centuries ago, when the people of one of the worlds discovered the means to bend and shape matter to their whims. Some of it began many millennia before that, when civilisation truly began to spread across the worlds. A lot of it began a long time before the worlds, when time was not measured, and life of the lower natures would not exist for aeons. All of it began before the universe that was had exploded into being, and the infinite depths of space and time had truly started to progress in their own ways.

But the events that were to see it all end began deep in the forests of Yeniseysk, close to the Stony Tunguska river, on the morning of the 30th of June in 1908 C.E.

At least, it was the forests of _a_ Yeniseysk in 1908 C.E.

It was a quarter of an hour after 7 o'clock, and the slowly rising sun tinged the sky yellow at the edges and covered the trees and forest floor in equal measure, enriching the verdant palette of the lands to a stark, quiet triumph of golden green. Little sound beyond the few animals that hunted or hid in the forests and the cracking and groaning of the ancient trees cleaved the air. Everything seemed almost painfully bright as the light absorbed by the treeline gave it all a vibrancy that only enhanced the peace of the place. It was a place few humans could walk through and think themselves in lands familiar or safe. It would seem, to some perhaps, as alien as if to walk upon another world entirely in its stillness.

And then, on that quiet summer morning, it was all blasted away.

Eyewitness accounts claimed that a great column of light, blinding as the sun and yet blue as a clear sky, lanced down from the heavens like the judgement of their god. A beautiful, monochromatic aurora, ephemeral and potent. As this shaft of light touched the horizon, though, the beauty became terrifying, and the potency became deadly.

For hundreds and hundreds of kilometres around, trees were knocked near flat and stripped of every scrap of branch and leaf, the Stony Tunguska river and others nearby were thrown up and spilled with great force, and earth for leagues was vaporised where it lay, or else became part of a great, momentary hurricane.

Wildlife and what few specimens of humanity might have existed in that barren place were killed, crushed by the pressure and friction, broiled and cooked by the immense heat, thrown far off and bashed into trees, dashed on rocks and impaled on splintered wood. Where life had once seemed still, now it was non-existent. The nearest centre of human life saw heat wash the land, glass shattering, and many poor souls thrown to the ground by the force exerted on them.

The sound of the blast was carried over thousands of kilometres, heard across much of Siberia and beyond. It might well have been the single loudest sound ever heard on Earth, and those who might have survived to see the effects of the blast and hear its terrible rancour wondered if it was the wrath of their god for the wickedness of the age. Even those not so enlightened to the myriad truths of the gods might have supposed that the world was ending.

In this instance, it truly was.

In this event, the great cataclysm that occurred there was wrought by schemes of creatures beyond all mortal knowledge, and it was the beginning of the end for everything, everywhere. Only in this world, though. In the one you know, the cataclysm happened quite differently, and was the product of no god or demon, no scheme or plan of higher beings. By the nature of time being both amorphous and yet fixed, the Tunguska event would happen by pure chance, and because it had to.

Even if the event of this other world did have designs guiding its happening, no-one would have lived to see the aftermath. No-one would have seen what was at the epicentre of the great explosion, for while the event had all the characteristics of a meteor striking the surface of Earth, no crater existed, nor were fragments of such a celestial body to be found at the eye of the storm.

What did appear there, for only long enough for the blast to peter out, were a large circle of complex, glowing runes, shapes and texts, blending with the ground before flaking away like dust, and the figure of something like a man, but much more terrible to behold. The figure carried only the vaguest human shape, where all else about it twisted in forms insane and alien and hostile to the delicate senses of true men.

This horrifying, eldritch thing hovered above the epicentre, surveying the destruction wrought about it. For just a moment, it reflected. For just a moment, it savoured. It knew that it had won; that nothing else would stop what needed to happen.

And then it was gone, in a cessation of existence in that singular time and place, as it went on to times and places other, and sought to see all the universe die.

For a short while, there was stillness. The echoes of the explosion, and the sounds of the aftermath, as trees creaked and cracked, and soil and water hissed and whined; all faded away and became silent once again.

It took a few more minutes, and then the peace was broken again, though nowhere near as cataclysmically as the initial explosion. At the very centre, where the terrible creature and the circle of runes had been and gone, there was a rumbling and shaking of the ground, and as the freshly disturbed earth split open, an edifice of strange proportions and stranger substance rose from it. No architecture of Earth matched it, and it spoke of makers entirely alien to that tiny planet.

On one side of this edifice, a small section of wall melted away like wax, and from the newly opened archway stepped two more figures, both completely human in appearance and proportion, if notable in their attire and gait. They wore robes of grey, which seemed to drink the light around them and ripple in imperceptibly differing shades.

One of the newcomers stood tall as a man, his skin dark and soft, his hair and beard groomed, his eyes bright. The other had the stature of an adolescent, and his skin was pale yet full of colour, his hair long and unkempt. They stepped out onto the warm soil about them, felt the hot air on their skin, and looked at one another. Both smiled, one warmly, the other grimly. A conversation passed between them, full of hope and determination. Their plans would not fail, and all life in the universe could yet be saved. Then they looked ahead, and began their journey together, one step at a time, to make sure the evil that might yet come to pass was stopped.

As they left, the unnatural structure they had emerged from slithered back under the surface of the earth, and the soil that had been kicked up by its intrusion rolled its way back over the breach to cover it, as if tilled back by the hand of a god.

And once again, everything became quiet. The world turned ever onwards.

* * *

Something else began on another world entirely, on the morning of the 30th of June in 1902, in a version of the vast Eastern Desert.

It was a quarter of an hour after 7 o'clock, and the slowly rising sun tinged the sky yellow at the edges and covered the endless dunes and planes and the sand that filled the wind. Anyone caught in the already growing heat would suffer the sand to tear their skin, ruin their eyes and fill their mouths. The cloudless sky let the rising sun cover the dunes and light them up, imbuing them with a blinding, fiery radiance. Little else moved out in the desert, save for tiny, flitting creatures hiding from the coming heat until everything grew cool and hunting could begin. It was a place few humans could walk through and think themselves in lands familiar or safe. It would seem, to some perhaps, as alien as if to walk upon another world entirely in its stillness.

And then, on that quiet summer morning, the desert was disturbed.

No human eyes were there to witness what happened at the site. Once, a great kingdom of men had existed where the disturbance took place, but it had long been lost to a great calamity, and its fall had long passed into legend.

Eyewitness accounts from the neighbouring land of Amestris claimed that a great blossom of light, blinding as the sun and yet blue as a clear sky, appeared on the horizon like the judgement of a god. A beautiful, monochromatic aurora, ephemeral and potent. As this light reached its peak, though, the beauty faded away, and the potency became frightening.

Deep in the desert, amongst the mighty dunes, a giant column of sand, hundreds of metres wide, erupted into the air with terrible force. Any small creatures hiding buried in that place or who had chanced to skim across the slowly baking desert surface were carried with the cloud, shredded by the sand, crushed by pressure and battered by the force exerted on their tiny bodies. The sand cloud was propelled high into the air, high enough that it could be seen for kilometres around.

Across eastern Amestris, something of the great column was observed and commented on, but not enough to truly understand what it was. In recently war-torn Ishval, many of the native people, scared, angry, and desperate, wondered if it was the wrath of their god for the wickedness of the age. One casual Amestrian observer made a dark joke about how the world was ending.

In this instance, it truly was.

It was only in this version of this world that the cataclysm that occurred would do so. In the world you might know, this cataclysm never happened, and it only occurred in this world because it had been wrought by the schemes of creatures beyond all mortal knowledge. By the nature of time being both amorphous and yet fixed, the cataclysm of the desert would happen by the designs of others, and because it had to.

Since here there was no human life to witness the event, no-one was around to also see the aftermath. No-one would have seen what was at the epicentre of the great explosion, for while the event had all the characteristics of a mighty tumult from beneath the surface of Earth, no pit existed, nor were fragments of any such thing that could cause it to be found at the eye of the storm.

What did appear there, for only long enough for the blast to peter out, was a large circle of complex, glowing runes, shapes and texts, blending with the ground before flaking away like the immeasurable sand of the desert. It appeared in a clearing created in the tumult, amidst what little rubble remained of the ancient ruined city, and it was obscured from any potential observers by the newly created sandstorm.

For a short while, there was stillness. The sand filling the air flew on into the desert all around. The echoes of the blast, the dull thuds and cracks as stone debris, blasted rubble and little shards of newly molten glass landed among the dunes and rubble; all faded away, and the ever-present low howl of the wind reigned supreme once again.

It took a few more minutes, and then the peace was broken again, though nowhere near as spectacularly as the initial eruption. At the very centre, where the circle of runes had been and gone, there was a rumbling and shaking of the ground, and as the freshly disturbed sand split open, an edifice of strange proportions and stranger substance rose from it. No architecture of the world matched it, and it spoke of makers entirely alien to that tiny planet.

On one side of this edifice, a small section of wall melted away like wax, and from the newly opened archway stepped a figure, human in appearance and proportion, if notable in her attire and gait. She wore robes of grey, which seemed to drink the light around her and ripple in imperceptibly differing shades.

The newcomer was of middling height, her skin pale yet full of colour, her hair tied back yet still messy, her eyes sharp. She stepped out onto the baked sand about her, felt the arid air on her skin, and looked out at the desert before her. She smiled contentedly. Her plans would not fail, and everything would be set right, and as best as it all could be. Then she looked ahead, and began her journey, one step at a time, to make sure those that could hinder her plans might yet be stopped.

As she left, the unnatural structure she had emerged from slithered back under the surface of the desert, and the sand that had been kicked up by its intrusion rolled its way back over the breach to cover it, as if tilled back by the hand of a god.

And once again, everything became quiet. The world turned ever onwards.

* * *

 _Author's Notes_

 _EDIT 2/10/18: Have made a slight edit to the initial blurb's ending._

 _Well, this is surreal. It's been a long, long time since I posted any stories to this site, and for a long time I thought I never would again. And then I watched all of FMA 2003 and Brotherhood, and the movies Conqueror of Shamballa and Sacred Star of Milos over two months, and an old writing itch came back and never quite went away. So, here we are, with this story._

 _I hope that you, the reader, enjoy this initial cryptic bit of narrative, and I hope it intrigues you enough to want to read more. A fair warning, though. Updates for this story, such as they will be, are going to come very, very slowly. I am not a quick writer and I'm always triple-checking -everything- I write from grammar and spelling to whether one plot idea is better over another, etc. Basically, it will most likely be a long time before this story sees completion, if it ever does. I hope that I do pull it off, and that any and all readers enjoy it._

 _Moving on to some trivia about the chapter now:_

 _The initial story being told, about the old man and the child and the fig tree, is an abbreviated version of a story from Hindu scripture, specifically the story of Markandeya. The version I have written here only lightly touches upon the intended philosophy and meaning of the story, since my understanding of Hinduism is generalised and comes from a non-religious point of view. It goes without saying that the story has some meaning to the overall plot of this fanfic, but what that meaning is will be up to you to interpret as the story progresses. If you're curious, there are a few links you can find through a search engine that show and analyse the story in its original context._

 _For those of you who might not know, the Tunguska event is a real-life historical event that happened roughly as I described it here, but it has never been conclusively proved what caused it to occur, and it most likely never will be. It's a popular event to use in certain works of fiction, since it's not only a great mystery, but also a genuinely very destructive event, and was indeed the cause of one of the loudest explosions heard on Earth, as far as I know._


	2. Memories of Two Worlds

**1 – Memories of Two Worlds**

It was the 21st of October today, according to the newspaper, and that fact was more than enough justification for said newspaper to be thrown down on the floor with a cacophony of crackling.

Two years, they'd been at this, his brother and him. Two years chasing potentially the single most dangerous weapon created in either this world or the one he had been born on, and despite their careful work and their tenacity, it felt like they weren't even a step closer to getting hold of it.

Edward Elric; former alchemist, savant, and unwitting saviour of worlds, felt decidedly irritable today. And apparently, it showed on his face.

"What's the dark look for this time, Brother?"

Edward looked up and across the room to where Alphonse was looking at him with that cheerful smile he never quite seemed to lose, even with everything that had happened to him over the years. Ed stretched on the small couch he'd mostly claimed for himself and sighed.

"Just stuck on how little it feels we've accomplished here, Al. We swore to find that bomb, and two years later it's still being kept out of our hands."

"It was never gonna be easy, Brother, especially not with the people who've been keeping it from us."

Ed shifted to lie across the couch and rest his head on one of the armrests. Not the most comfortable, but right now he didn't much care. "Can't argue with that. Still wanna beat my head against the wall."

With a snigger, Al's smile became a little bigger. "Please don't. Your head's part of what's making us enough to even do any of this."

All Ed gave as a response to that was a defeated grunt, as he set himself to staring at the plaster ceiling of the apartment he and the others shared.

He and Alphonse had been stuck here together for those two years, coming to terms with the fact that they would never be able to return home, to their own world.

After the madness with the Thule Society, he and Al had resolved to find the last legacy of the rogue alchemist Huskisson; the uranium bomb that he had been so proud of making. A weapon with the capacity to kill thousands in a single blast. The idea was horrifying. When they had confronted him, he'd used human transmutation in an attempt to escape, and like all who played that little tune, the cosmos had seen fit to show him to the Gate of Truth, and he and his precious bomb had been thrown through it, to this world.

At first, Ed had been convinced that only the bomb itself could have made it through the Gate intact, as it had not seemed likely that Huskisson had known how to pass through that dreadful plane of reality with his body, mind and soul intact. But if life was determined to do one thing with Edward Elric as its plaything, it was to prove that anything could happen, and that it was rarely to his benefit.

The search for the mad genius in the metal mask and his copper-plated contraption had not truly begun until they'd settled their affairs with new friends and colleagues, and after they'd attended poor Alfons' funeral.

The thought of Alfons brought a dull pain to his chest, but Ed decided to let his mind drift into thinking about _something_ other than his present frustration. He needed a break from frowning, and even a sad memory wasn't always a bad thing to dwell on.

It had been a tragic affair, Alfons Heiderich's death and funeral, but the Roma had given him a lively send-off that turned the sombre tone bittersweet. It had also been preceded by a very awkward conversation with Alphonse talking about how he felt about seeing his doppelganger dead and mourned over. A few of the Roma attendees who weren't in the know had been confused by Al seemingly attending his own funeral, but it was made clear that they were not, in fact, the same person.

Looking over at his brother again, Ed smiled a little sadly. "It's amazing we've even gotten this far living in this world. It's never been easy trying to scrape a living and chase the bomb."

"You've been the main reason for that. If not for your knowledge of rocketry being so valuable to the government here, we'd be worse off for sure." Alphonse closed his eyes with a little chuckle as he said this. Ed felt that he was maintaining his optimism to cloak the harsher truth of his statement.

Doing what they did together in this world while juggling trying to live comfortably had not been easy. Even though their father had left him a decent sum of money to live off for a time, it had been stretched to bursting point over the years, and it had finally begun to run dry after a year into their search. Suddenly, a source of income had become a higher priority.

Edward had felt utterly out of depth when their funding had dried up, as he'd had to focus on just getting food and board for them all somewhere, anywhere. Almost no time could be spent actually searching for the bomb until then. It had been gruelling. But in the end, circumstances had allowed for the current German government to sponsor his ongoing research and development of rockets and their applications, military or otherwise.

Still, Ed felt it necessary to retort to Al's assertion. "Well, you and Noah have been helping out too, y'know! Your chemistry studies and Noah's work, I wouldn't have the support of the government if not for you two."

Alphonse shook his head softly, still smiling. "We might help, Brother, but you're the money maker right now, and there's no way past that."

And that really was the truth of the matter wasn't it? Uncomfortable as it could be at times, Ed being the breadwinner of their odd little family of three was not only necessary but had proven inevitable. Still, Alphonse had been working alongside his brother in his scientific endeavours, at first as an assistant, and later as a peer. Alphonse had proven himself a quick study in the field of chemistry, with all its ties to both Ed's studies and their joint knowledge of alchemy. And Noah, for all that she still received some trouble for it, had secured a position working with the civil service on the Elrics' behalf. She was their point of contact between them and the German government. Or at least, the only parts of the German government that didn't change every year or so.

Noah, for all that Ed had been through with her, had elected to stay with the pair on their travels. She had still felt quite guilty about the part she had played in aiding Eckhart and the Thule Society, and Ed couldn't fault her for wanting to stay with them, considering how she'd felt about the life she'd have to live, even among her own people.

"We all do what we can, Al. And with the government changing every damn year pretty much, it's never sure we're gonna stay afloat. It's a miracle Stresemann was so willing to endorse our work like he did. It's all well and good, working to help him and Germany, and learning what we have in this world, but without finding that bomb, it feels kinda empty sometimes."

While Germany was picking up the pieces of its broken pride and world standing, Ed, Al and Noah had been globe-trotting hither and thither, all across Europe, even briefly visiting America, all on behalf of the German government as part of an outreach program to strengthen German ties to the international scientific community. They'd made many new friends and contacts abroad, and even some local up-and-comers desperate to find any evidence of Huskisson, his bomb, or both. So far, they'd heard nothing of Huskisson, which gave Ed some hope that he wasn't around to use or sell the bomb, as had been his plan with Amestris. The bomb, however…

There'd been rumours and hearsay at first; talk of a copper sphere with a valve and a power contained within to change the world forever, or to end it. A weapon to rival the powers of the gods of ancient myth and legend. The rumours became more concrete the more power the speakers had.

The Thule Society had managed to keep a hold of it at first. They had been the ones to use its photo to convince the Nazis to aid them in crossing to the other world. But after the debacle and the failure of the putsch in Munich, the Nazi party had severed ties with the organization, just in time for it to be banned as a political party. With that, the top members of the Thule Society had scattered into the wind, and Ed, Al and Noah had been left to follow dozens of fading trails.

They'd found records and learned names and appearances of those members, and the great hunt had commenced. Finding that they couldn't easily locate the major players in the Society, even as it was starting to disintegrate without Nazi support, they'd started with lesser members and supporters and worked their way up the food chain.

At first, Noah had offered her clairvoyance as a means to help in discerning the truth of what they learned from those they interrogated, but after several attempts, it had taken a strain on her. Seeing the memories and the impressions of people like those in the Thule Society, those who supported their vile ideas, had been emotionally wearisome for Noah, and in the end, she and the Elrics had agreed to let her step back from using her power in that way.

Lead after lead led to nothing but more hearsay, until at last, one of them had known, and been made to talk by Ed. He'd spooked the guy pretty well, even if he hadn't actually planned to hurt him.

The bomb had been in the possession of Hans Michael Frank, a key member of the Thule Society and Nazi party since they were established. He'd fled to Austria in the wake of the failed Munich putsch, but had quietly returned to Munich the year before once he was at no risk of being charged for his part in it.

Frank had maintained ownership of the bomb in Austria during his exile and had apparently been keeping it somewhere secure in Munich with covert Nazi support while he studied law. It seemed that being banned didn't cripple the party anywhere near as much as hoped.

Ed and Al had seen a breakthrough when they finally tracked down the location of the uranium bomb as Frank had hidden it, but it had come at a cost.

Ed had cursed himself black and blue about it afterwards. His excitement at finally reaching the end of their search had gotten the better of his patience, and so his means of acquiring the location had been all too noticeable. Frank's associates had known they were coming, and by the time they'd arrived on the scene, the bomb and its keepers were gone.

That had been a year ago, and so Ed, Al and Noah were back to square one. Even worse than that, really, since now the Thule Society's members would have taken steps to ensure they couldn't make use of the same people, the same methods, to find their prize.

And so, the second year of their chase had been tied to their work for Gustav Stresemann, touring Europe to engage with interested scientific parties, or pretending to do that as a smokescreen to pursue the uranium bomb. Austria, England, France, Italy, Romania, Switzerland; they'd been all over, following the trail of the wandering custodians of the deadliest weapon on Earth. And not once had they been able to actually reach the damn thing. It was soul-crushing.

Still, it meant that they got to see the world and sometimes actually share knowledge and intellectual kinship with scientists, engineers, doctors, teachers and politicians from many countries, and Ed and Al had become quite respected in private circles across the continent. And dear, sweet Noah had finally had a chance to see more of the world, to maybe find places in it that would accept her Roma heritage. Some places and people did, many more did not, but for those few places that did, it really made Noah seem so much happier. Just having the chance to travel, to see new places and meet new people, and to do so in the company of people who valued her as a person and wouldn't use her. She might have earned back Edward's trust, but it was just as clear that she had come to trust him and Alphonse as much in return. That certainly meant a lot to Edward.

Alphonse leaned back in his chair and sighed at him. "It's not been that bad, Brother. We've seen so many new places, discovered so much stuff, met new people. It's been great working with Noah, too. I mean, I should know, right?"

Ed smiled again as he understood what Al was getting at. "Yeah, you should. You were keen to get closer to her after a while."

Alphonse's face became a mask of shock and embarrassment, cheeks flushing red. "You don't have to be so blunt about it!"

"You should know me by now, Al." Ed managed to hold back from laughing, but he couldn't resist grinning like an idiot at his brother's blushing. "Besides, she turned you down graciously enough. And she still loves having you around. You've both been great."

Yes, Noah's presence had meant a lot to Al, too. Two years in her company, actually getting to know her, living with her, and the pair of them learning about each other, and poor Al had become smitten with Noah. He did his best not to show it, which was to say that he was sometimes painfully obvious about it, but he didn't act on how he felt about her. He went out of his way to help her with this and that, and he enjoyed spending what time he could with her.

For her part, Noah had been quite flattered by it all. She'd privately told Ed as much a little while ago. That being said, however, she hadn't come to feel anything the same way about him, even though he had become a very good friend to her in the last couple of years. She and Ed had discussed it at length, and eventually, she had sat down with Al and broken the news to him. He'd handled it quite gracefully, and Ed had made sure to take Al out and do something nice with him that evening, so they could talk it out as well. The next morning, there was no bad blood and no lingering regret, and Al had gotten back into his routine quite comfortably. He still enjoyed helping Noah out when he could, though.

Finally, Edward sat up properly on the couch and rubbed his face with his hands. Cold metal and warm flesh mingled their sensations through his nerves. The clicking of his automail arm was a comforting sound by its familiarity.

"For all that we've not reached the bomb, we've had a good run with how things have turned out. We said we'd accept our place here, and we've done that. We're working, we're travelling, we're actually _living_ , Al. We've done good. For all I complain, I wouldn't want to lose what we've achieved."

Al stood up and walked across the room to sit next to his brother. He intertwined his fingers as he nodded slowly. "That's what I want to hear. We're doing okay here, and we're gonna get there eventually. Besides, who knows what's gonna happen in the future."

The brothers sat back in the couch and let themselves have a comfortable pause. A gentle breeze came in from the open window of their apartment, and the sounds of life in Berlin followed with it. A tingle passed through Ed as the moment of silence went on a little longer. He focused on the small landscape painting on the far wall. A simple little thing depicting the Swiss Alps, purchased from a wandering artist at a market day some months ago.

"Ed…" Al's voice sounded pensive as he broke through the quiet haltingly. "Do you ever… miss home much? Amestris, I mean?"

Ed kept his eyes on the painting as he processed Al's question. He hadn't really expected it. Afterwards, he would tell himself that he should have. It was a difficult topic to think on.

He sighed quietly before he replied. "Yeah, quite a lot. It's gotten easier to bear over time, but… Everyone we had to leave behind…"

Impressions of people's faces, the emotions that went with them, both came into focus in Ed's mind. Winry, Gran, Mustang, Hawkeye, Ms Hughes… Even Mom and Maes Hughes appeared there. He had no idea how any of those who he had last seen alive were doing, even though he knew they were probably all going about their lives the same as he and Al were. These moments of longing came and went, and they always would, he reckoned. It still ached inside when they did. Ed reckoned that he would be quite old by the time that ache got any lesser.

Al's smile had faded before Ed's response, and hearing it, his shoulders slumped down ever so slightly. "To be honest, there's not a day goes by I don't think about what we left behind. Getting all my memories back when I crossed over… It just made it all worse. It's gotten more manageable, but we don't really talk about it, do we?"

"No, I guess we don't." Ed said, finally turning away from the painting and looking at his brother, trying his best to keep his face from showing his sadness. "We both promised to focus on what we had, and what we can do here, but…"

"But that doesn't mean we can't miss what we had, or feel the pain of losing it." Al finished, and Ed found he couldn't disagree with how he put it. Amestris and the world beyond it would always be 'home' home to them, even if they'd come to see this world in a similar way. Sometimes, it felt best to try and ignore that, and focus on the present, but that made the regret build up more until it burst. Ed didn't want that for himself or for Alphonse.

He curled his mouth into a sad little smile and went on, "Say, Al… Tell me something you remember about home. What's one really happy memory from before we came here?"

There was a short silence as Al leaned back in the couch, taking to staring at the same painting Ed had been just moments before. "It's a little fuzzy, but… Back when we were kids. Back when Mom was…" Another pause, this time tinged with pain. "She took us out beyond the edge of the town, and into the countryside. We just went walking, until we found that little brook under the tree, tucked away where it seemed no-one else knew about it. You remember?"

Ed did in fact recall that day, just as hazily as he suspected Al did. Memories of childhood tended to blur over time. "Hehe! We were so proud that we'd found a whole new place with Mom. Our little family secret, private and quiet."

He saw Al's smile came back slowly, like he was savouring the memory playing before his mind's eye. "We ran along the shore, played in the water, and napped under the tree with Mom. And then you tried to hop over some rocks in the stream to reach something in the water you saw."

"I thought I saw a fossil or something. I thought you'd like to have something like that. And then I slipped and fell in the water. Lucky the stream wasn't deep enough to carry me off." Ed chuckled, vaguely recalling the shock and childlike embarrassment at soaking his entire lower body in cold running water. "And it was just a weird-shaped rock in the end."

Al laughed airily. It was a warm and happy sound, and it seemed to fill the space they were in like the light of a welcome sunrise through clear windows. "You were so mad that you didn't have something nice to give me. I was happy that you went out for me in the first place. And watching you fall in had me giggling halfway home."

"I remember that, you jerk!" Ed's indignancy was good-natured and feigned as he protested. "I felt so stupid about it all the next day. But we laughed about it afterwards, right?"

Al kept chuckling as he spoke, clearly in good spirits at what he was about to say. "Only after we'd had another fight down by the gate. We wore ourselves out, laughed at how stupid it was, and then Mom saw the dirt on our clothes and just knew." A deep sigh, and Ed could practically feel Al's wistful longing as some of his mirth drained out of him. "She was too good to miss anything we did."

Edward rolled his shoulders to stop himself from tensing up with the old, familiar ache in his heart. "Can't argue with that, Al. Even now, thinking about her still hurts a little."

He became aware that Alphonse was holding out a hand to him. A comforting gesture. He took it slowly; gladly. Al looked at him almost side-on, not really facing his brother. "The same for me, Brother. Every day, a little memory, a little longing. But I've learned to accept it, and to keep walking forward."

"… We've got two good legs. Both of us. And we got up and used them, didn't we?" He squeezed Al's hand gently. He looked at him straight on. Al couldn't. He turned his focus to the painting again.

"Yes we did, Brother. And we still do, every day."

He squeezed back, just for a moment. And then his hand was gone, and Al was standing up and going to the window, moving to look out over the street outside. Ed couldn't see anything beyond the buildings opposite them, but the sounds of life went on as they always did. He suddenly felt tired and awkward.

After a minute of contemplation, he saw Al turn back to him, his smile bright as the sunlight behind him. "What about your time here, Brother? You told me a lot, but there must be a special memory from before I came over as well."

"Hmmm…" Ed turned his gaze to the ceiling as he began racking his brain for something special. Well, a lot of it was special, of course, but something he didn't often talk about would be ideal.

He hadn't spent much time in those days doing or thinking about anything except finding a way home, studying with Hermann Oberth and Alfons, or working with the latter on his projects. He had enjoyed some happy moments with Alfons during their time working and living together, but he had shared most of those with Al already.

But there was one thing he could talk about. He couldn't help but feel his shoulders relax a little at the thought of it. It was a good memory, even if it was very private.

Before he got a chance to share it with Al, though, he heard the door to the apartment open and close, and the sound of Noah's voice filled the space in the apartment instead. "Edward, Alphonse, I'm home!"

Ed looked at Al with a shrug and a sheepish grin. "Maybe later, Al." He got up from the couch and went to meet Noah halfway. They met at the dining table, where Noah smiled at seeing him and put down her leather messenger bag. She was dressed in attire appropriate to her work for the Government; everything neat, pressed and formal. She had taken to wearing her hair more formally as well, keeping the sweeping mass of it tied into a bun at the back. She still kept the bangs and braids she liked wearing, though.

"Hey there, Noah. How was work today?" Edward had been most pleased that Noah had been accepted as their official liaison with Gustav Stresemann's office. It had been a condition of their accepting the man's offer to work for them in the way they had been. For his part, he'd been accepting of it all, even if there had been some grumblings from people who worked for and with him about having a woman who was clearly a gypsy working so closely to perhaps the largest constant pillar of German government.

But those grumblings had died down over time, and Noah had more than proven herself capable of working in that environment with training and commitment. She'd even talked about making friends among the other women in the office and being taken into their exclusive gossip circles. That could often be as fruitful a source of valuable information and trivia as the official channels, on occasion. More importantly, it gave Noah a means to prove she was fit to live and work like anyone else, no matter her heritage or what many might have said. It had helped restore a sense of pride in herself. Ed knew all too well the importance of that.

"It was fine, thank you." Noah's smile couldn't help but dispel the melancholy of moments ago. "Maria was keen to share news of her sister's baby. She's given birth to a healthy boy. Maria couldn't be happier to be a new aunt." Edward and Alphonse had already had the names of the girls working in the office there. There were not many, but more than would have been before the Great War, so it was said.

Al approached the table as well. "We're pleased to hear it, Noah. Pass on our regards to her when you get the chance."

Noah smiled a little more warmly, and then her eyes widened slightly. "That reminds me, before anything else. I've something to show you both urgently."

"What's come through for us?" Ed tilted his head as he asked his question. Usually, missives from Stresemann or his secretary would be shown after Noah had settled into apartment for a while. For them to have emphasised urgency piqued Ed's curiosity. He hoped privately that this meant progress was being made on their real mission.

Noah reached into her messenger bag and carefully pulled out a sheet of paper from among several. "I have a telegram from Minister Stresemann's office directly to you both. Here..."

She laid the telegram out on the table, and Ed and Al both stood shoulder to shoulder to look down at the contents. They recognised Noah's slightly spiky handwriting. Roma were not, as a standard, literate, and while Noah had some experience in that regard, coupled with knowledge gleaned from her unique brand of clairvoyance, she had needed the last two years to practice writing to the required standard. Even so, the translation of the original Morse code was perfectly legible.

 _MISTERS EDWARD AND ALPHONSE ELRIC_

 _AN OUTSIDE PARTY HAS COME FORWARD WITH INFORMATION CONCERNING THE DEVICE. THEY HAVE REQUESTED A MEETING WITH YOU TOMORROW AT 3PM, WHICH I HAVE AGREED TO. MEET US AT MY OFFICE AT THAT TIME. SINCERELY._

 _GUSTAV STRESEMANN_

Ed read and reread the short missive, just to get a fix on the news. It was exactly what he'd hoped for. After struggling to regain their footing these past few months, they might actually have something they could work with.

The fact that an outside party had come forward with something was odd, as far as Ed was concerned. Not many people knew about the uranium bomb or anything regarding its origin, technology or potential for destruction.

An image of Fritz Lang, sitting down for tea in one of his movie sets, showing Edward the photograph of the bomb, bubbled up in his mind. He doubted that it would be Lang, however. He was just a film-maker, and he'd been busy making fantastical motion pictures about stories from old epic poems. Someone else had to be involved with this. That whoever it was had been able to turn the head of someone like Stresemann was cause for him to worry.

As he pondered, he saw Al turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to face him properly. "Someone else has a lead on the bomb? Who could have found out about this?"

"Not sure, Al. It's easy to think that the Society might have talked to others about the weapon, or their plans. Who knows what they've been planning with that thing, after all the time we've spent hunting them." Ed's face was grim, set with the thoughts speeding though his mind.

"Do you think that maybe it's a sham? This person might be lying, or mistaken." Ed knew Al wasn't asking out of any sense of hope that this was true. He had to be practical and hear his brother's opinion on the possibility.

He shook his head at Al. "I don't think Stresemann would have sent us the message if he thought this wasn't genuine. He's practical, and he's not easily fooled by anyone. If he sent us this, then he believes this new information is real."

The two of them looked back to the note, the conversation pausing. Then Noah piped up. "Will you need me to prepare anything for you tomorrow? If this is something you can act on, you'll most likely set out somewhere again soon."

Noah was far too good to them both, sometimes. Ed grinned, feeling a buzz of determination. "Just the usual travel stuff. We could be going anywhere and be gone for a while. I take it you'll be coming with us, Noah?"

Noah smiled warmly. She always seemed to appreciate Ed's including her in plans for travel. It made him think sadly of how little he felt he'd done that for Winry back home. Now he missed her desperately.

"Of course. As long as you and Minister Stresemann get me the usual paperwork, I'll be coming along."

Al perked up at her choice and began walking over to the kitchen. "Wherever we go, we'll be glad you're with us, Noah. Now why don't we sort out something for dinner and talk more once we've eaten? I'll wanna see if I can handle this by myself with what you taught me. We'll have that stew we all like."

The stew was always a good choice, as far as Ed was concerned. Even aged 20, he considered it the best damn thing to eat that had milk in. Hell, it was still pretty much the _only_ thing he'd eat with milk in it. The only thing he'd gotten to enjoy to the same level were those white sausages he'd discovered in this world. He and Alfons had loved those…

Alfons again. Edward did his best to hide the sudden sadness he felt remembering his old friend. He let Noah and Ed go about their routine for the evening. This sadness was best kept private. He would focus on the plan for tomorrow when dinner was done. For now, he stood where Al had at the window, looking out over their little corner of Berlin, and quietly reminisced about his brother's dead doppelganger, and how he'd tried to honour his final wishes.

* * *

Colonel Roy Mustang read through the report in his hands again with his almost ever-present sense of anticipation steadily growing by the paragraph. The contents of the report, such as they were, conspired to make his otherwise boring day in the lukewarm office space he occupied that much more irritable. Hell, at the rate he was going, he might be able to heat the place up from his temper, no alchemic flames required.

"You're working yourself up, sir. We're prepared for what's coming." Captain Riza Hawkeye was a beacon of normality to him at the moment, remaining absolutely professional even as she stood in front of his desk. It was the main reason why he wasn't letting his impatience get the better of him.

"Can't much help it, Captain. Even if Breda got his report to us with some time to work a plan, it's not gonna be much." He wasn't short with Riza. He always tried not to be, even if he didn't always succeed. It was unfair to direct his frustration at her, and she would still be right in the end.

Her expression didn't change as she calmly helped him through his thoughts, running as they were at however many kilometres an hour in his head. "He did what he could, given his position, sir."

"Yeah…" Mustang put the sheaf of papers down on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose with a quiet sigh. "All this trouble from some pack of nutjobs running us in circles for six months. I'd almost take the boredom of the eighteen months before that again!"

It was, he had always felt, ironic and typical of the world and his place in it that after two years of putting himself back to the grindstone of military service, he hadn't tangibly advanced his career further than it had been even before that. Right back to where he was when the whole conspiracy surrounding the ruling of Amestris had come to light and also missing an eye for his troubles.

The invasion of Amestris from another world had been quite a shock, for better or worse, he supposed. Before that, he'd set himself up to have no prospects for his career at all. His feelings of having failed Fullmetal during that crisis, and all the old ghosts that being a soldier had left him with, had driven him into self-imposed exile. He had been content to live out his military days in a small, draughty stone box in the north as an enlisted man, guarding a lifeless, desolate outpost, alone and deservedly miserable.

So of course, life couldn't just let him choose his own suffering without it hijacking the whole business and setting him loose in the winds of change again. Gut feelings and a few phone calls had led him back to Central just in time for giant flying fortresses and armoured platoons of monsters with machine guns to swarm the city. And being the upstanding soldier that he was, he had faced this attack with fire in his eye and in the snap of his fingers. And as his hunches had predicated, Fullmetal had somehow come home, and Mustang had helped him and his brother one last time before they both played the hero and went into the other world, all to make sure that the Gate that had been opened could be shut. They'd left him to close the Gate on his side.

Turns out they'd left him a lot more besides.

Hawkeye appeared to allow herself a small smile. "It wasn't all that boring, sir. It was good to get the unit back together. You never really stopped being the leader, even if you needed time away."

Mustang reciprocated the smile, but it was edged with hints of a grimace. "The new commission was nice of Command, but you're right. It felt good to be back with you all, even if it was clean-up duty and putting up with Assembly's paranoia for a year and half."

"Would you have acted differently if _you_ were in charge, sir?" Hawkeye had arched an eyebrow at him before speaking, happy to skewer his cynical comments with aplomb. He grimaced, and all he could muster as a retort was an embarrassed scoff.

Whether he wanted it or not, the public and the State had hailed him as a hero. The Flame Alchemist reborn, now the saviour of the new Amestris. His team had been lauded, too, but not to the same extent he had been glorified. It irked him. With all his demons and all the mistakes of his past tucked away by eager propagandists, he had been put up on a pedestal and praised for his unparalleled service to Amestris, being pestered no end about his unprecedented work in repelling the otherworldly foes. For this, the military had reinstated him to the rank of Colonel, along with restoring his status as a State Alchemist and command of his old team, with some additional benefits.

All this was, it further turned out, in service to a long-term assignment that his team was given within two weeks of the invasion's aftermath. The Assembly had felt it best to keep an eye out for any potential future attacks from whoever had come through the first time, and Mustang had been such a convenient and prominent figure to head this up on the State's behalf.

Thus, it came together that he, Hawkeye, Breda, Falman, Fuery and Havoc had all been packed off into a spanking new office together and set to work. Joining them were Maria Ross, Denny Brosch and the newly promoted Corporal Sheska. All having direct ties to the Elric Brothers' escapades and the conspiracy of four years ago, they had settled in with each other smoothly enough.

Mustang had often hoped to have another alchemist as part of his team, as he felt quite outnumbered in his own unit. But the only one he would have been likely to get was Armstrong, and he had retired years ago. Still, Mustang would never think less of his team just for a lack of alchemy, and he wouldn't have any other people to work with than them. It had, despite the chaos around them all, been a good time to be working together.

That had been the saving grace of spending eighteen months examining pretty much the entirety of Amestris, top to bottom, for any more clues as to the Gate invaders, and to the possibility of their return. The principal areas of investigation had been Central and the underground city beneath it, and Lior out in the East. They'd studied the areas of effect, questioned scholars and relevant witnesses, they'd researched the phenomena with what knowledge they did have from the ground up. They had found only limited success. But they had provided the Assembly and the military with assessments and recommendations to prepare for if an attack came from these locations again.

No other places in Amestris had shown any evidence that attacks could come from them. Most of his team's efforts had been spent in proving that fact exhaustively. Only Central and Lior could be vulnerable to more invasions, because only Central, or rather the city underneath it, and Lior had been places where city-wide human transmutation had occurred. Yes, he and his team had made very, very sure of that, thank you.

Turning around to look out of his window, Mustang refocused on answering Hawkeye. "I suppose not. It was good to just all be together working on something. Having Armstrong's old subordinates and Sheska with us was pretty useful too. It was all just… normal, I guess."

"That it was, sir. Still, it made sense that we were the team assigned to investigate what came after that." Hawkeye's little smile hadn't shifted. Mustang couldn't help but be a little grateful for that.

The Assembly had been satisfied with the work that Mustang and his men had done, and it seemed likely that they would all be set to some other new job, like dealing with the ongoing Ishbalan resettlement crisis, or the ever-present shadow of Drachma in the north. Or they might have even split the team up again, sent their separate ways as duty called.

And then the stories of mysterious people with interest in opening the Gate had come to the attention of the State. And that, as it had been said by Havoc at the time, had been damn convenient timing.

Mustang wasn't sure how he'd made it through that day without a blood vessel bursting somewhere.

There hadn't really been much to go on, as far as their hunting them had gone. Chasing down individuals who didn't want to be found and who, strictly speaking, hadn't committed any crimes yet, had been an impossible challenge for the group.

After two months of little progress, right under their noses in Central, a gun battle had taken place. They'd only been informed after the fact that several of the individuals who had been arrested had repeated some kind of religious dogma relating to the Gate of Truth, and the 'Worlds Beyond'. No-one had seen or heard about who or what the criminals had been shooting at.

Mustang turned again to face Hawkeye with an incredulous look. "Six months of chasing after the kind of conspiracy theory nonsense you only read about in novels. What kind of people actually go and make a cult? Who falls for the kind of crap they spew out?"

There was an imperceptible movement of Hawkeye's arms that told Mustang she was twiddling her thumbs behind her back as she replied. "The kind of people who want something involving the Gate, sir. We've had this exact conversation about a dozen times over the last six months. Besides, the kind of dogma we heard from those we captured, it makes it sound like brainwashing's involved."

He shrugged, then rubbed his face with one hand. He felt tired. "It does. And that leaves me worried about Breda. We wouldn't even know if he'd been compromised." He didn't doubt that Breda was of a strong enough mind that mundane means of indoctrination wouldn't really do anything to him. He would have made it clear in an earlier report if he had concerns. But he didn't feel comfortable banking on that being a certainty. If something more insidious was involved…

Hawkeye shook her head calmly. "Breda's a good soldier, and he knew the risks when you sent him in. Don't beat yourself up for giving orders that needed giving, sir."

Mustang made a hum in his throat, conveying in no words that while he agreed with Riza on this, he didn't have to like it. Breda had always been a good colleague, and anything happening to him was going to be a blow to Mustang.

When they had discovered that they were dealing with a full-blown cult, it had made things feel more… achievable. Groups of people were a bigger target to aim for.

Once he and the team had been set loose to root them out, however, it had been like trying to shoot at shadows; nothing much had been achieved and they all felt like fools for trying. Whoever these zealots were, they were very good at keeping hidden, which meant that they were a good few steps above the usual suspects when it came to religious or ideological nutcases. Whoever was leading this phantom order knew what the hell they were doing.

By the fourth month of searching practically fruitlessly, Mustang had been ground down, and he had cracked. Facing a professional cult had translated in Mustang's life to a bottle of stiff drink and several reproachful glares from Lieutenant Hawkeye every single night for a week.

No, sorry, _Captain_ Hawkeye. Didn't want to make that mistake while under the influence again. It hadn't been about the rank that she'd finally snapped at him, he knew. It had been about the drinking, and the past and how he needed to move on from it, how it was still compromising his work and his relationships in the present. That night had been especially painful for him, and not just from the slap and the disapproving words spoken to him. It had been too much for Roy Mustang, and he found himself sobered up enough to say a courteous thank you and goodbye, before heading home and getting his mental paperwork squared away, as it were.

And with that, the next day, he'd been straight back into the investigation, and Captain Hawkeye and the team had been behind him. The following month had seen snippets of information come through, usually about places they had been and the beginnings of a pattern emerging in the groups actions and methods. They were obviously focused in the same cities as the portals to the other world had appeared in, and they seemed to be gathering information on other locations around Amestris.

"It's not just about Breda's situation. This group, these… Guardians… They were able to avoid us picking up anything useful about them for months." Mustang's expression darkened a little as he hid his eyes under his fringe, avoiding Riza's gaze. "Can't believe we had to take info from some hapless civilian."

"Oh? So, it's a matter of professional pride hampering your judgment, sir?" Hawkeye smirked very, very subtly, goading him into gritting his teeth and bunching up his shoulders in embarrassment.

At the time, it had seemed that someone else had taken an interest in this damn cult. A report had come in of a similar situation to the shootout that had first brought the cult to their attention that someone had attempted to infiltrate into a base they had discovered belonged to the group, but they had been discovered and driven away. By the time Mustang's team had arrived, the base was deserted, but the civilian had been forthcoming with evidence of their own to provide them.

It had been some down-on-his-luck kid, by the look of him, but he'd been an adventurous spirit, and a good climber, so that's how he justified getting where he'd been able to see all the stuff he could tell them about. They'd checked out his 'credentials' afterwards, which had checked out with his parents and his gang of friends, and his information had been detailed enough that Mustang had been convinced he was being honest.

"Shown up by a kid climbing up drainpipes and hiding in vents. Beaten by sheer dumb luck…" Mustang's voice sounded like it was ready to crack, as it tended to when he got like this.

"Try not to take it personally, sir." Hawkeye finally moved, walking up to his desk and picking up the report he'd thrown down, leafing through it herself. "At least we actually found out useful material about them. The Guardians of the Gate…"

Mustang chuckled at her saying their title out loud. "What a stupid name, especially if they're the ones trying to open it. And then there was the stuff about their boss. It's a pain we never confirmed who she was."

The group's name had been the first thing they'd learned from the kid. It was a bit self-important, perhaps, but Mustang imagined cults tended towards that anyway.

The second thing they had learned was that the group was stockpiling equipment and weapons for something involving using the Gate, though where hadn't been discovered yet. So, they wanted to invade this other world back, then? No points for originality, this lot.

The third thing they had learned was concerning their leader. No name had been heard, the informant had provided a photograph of the individual most of the people there had shown deference to, and they had also described how they had moved and sounded.

An older lady wrapped up in concealing clothes and a headwrap, and with an authoritative soft-spoken tone.

Mustang wasn't one to allow theories to dictate how he saw the facts, but he couldn't help but wonder on how what he understood of the events involving the Homunculi applied to this. They had been led by an influential old woman as well, after all. Again, it wasn't a given, but the possibility that this individual was the mysterious Dante needed to be considered.

"If all goes well tomorrow, sir, then we'll find out who she is when she's in custody or dead." Hawkeye turned a page on the report as she spoke. "Or maybe Breda will just tell us, assuming that what he's written here goes the way he plans."

The fourth thing they had learned was a possible method by which the cult could be infiltrated by Mustang's team. This was the crucial breakthrough. If they succeeded in getting an insider amongst these lunatics, then barring any disasters, dismantling their operations was simply a matter of time. In the end, they'd selected Breda for the task. He was their best infiltrator and investigator, and he wouldn't have been as well known as one of Mustang's men if their mystery woman was Dante.

They'd used what they'd been given as best they could, and in the end, Breda had successfully been taken in by some people who had been sent out to gather new converts. Since then, he'd been working diligently to earn their trust and make a name for himself amongst them, all while providing semi-regular updates to Mustang through Ross, who acted as his handler in this matter. The initial information had been simple stuff, but useful enough. The group did not use a fixed location anymore, not after the incidents it had suffered, and they never had large gatherings of people, keeping them spread out across the city, in places even Breda hadn't discovered.

The update before this had indicated valuable progress; the leading lady, who was only referred to as The Matriarch, had taken an interest in his devotion. He'd heard it rumoured that she was considering inducting him into a higher echelon of the Guardians, but nothing confirmed. It had put Mustang on edge, to be frank. He was too world-wise not to think that this might just be a trap meant to see Breda dead and Mustang's team humiliated. He couldn't bank on that cynicism, of course, but discretion never hurt in these matters.

And now, six weeks into his infiltration, and Breda had sent in his latest report. The tantalising little tale he'd provided had put paid to any hope of further discretion.

Breda had passed on the fact that the Guardians were planning to make a move very soon to secure a location in Central and attempt to open a Gate. They had apparently discovered some way of performing the transmutation required to accomplish this without needing a large quantity of material. That suggested a Philosopher's Stone, or something similar. A dangerous prospect. Breda had also mentioned that he was due to be inducted into the group's confidence fully, and he would get to interact with their master more closely.

He'd provided the location of the upcoming transmutation, and his best estimates as to enemy numbers, equipment and layout. But Mustang and his men did not have much time, as of receiving the report. The event was due to go ahead tomorrow night at midnight. It would be the first time in weeks that the cult would be coming together in large numbers, and with their leader. It would the perfect time to strike at them and end their mischief.

Mustang's orders had been quick, decisive, and laced with irritation at the lack of time they had. The Assembly and Central Command had been informed, and they had both given their consent to the operation. All those in the team with combat training would join him to intercept and disrupt the cult, while Fuery and Sheska remained behind. Fuery would act as communications officer for the team while on op and provide Central Command with updates.

It was all planned out, and everyone knew how to adapt to what would inevitably be an ever-changing situation.

So naturally, Mustang privately fretted and fumed over how much all of it was going to go wrong, and whether anyone would be hurt or worse by it. If they did, then they'd deal with it, but anticipating it was stomach-knotting.

The sound of his office door opening finally broke Mustang out of his reverie, and he turned to face First Lieutenant Ross as she came in and everyone exchanged salutes.

"Everyone in the team is ready to move out, sir." Ross was straight to the point, and Mustang was oddly comforted by her perfect poker face.

"Excellent work, Lieutenant Ross." Mustang reached one hand into a pocket of his uniform and felt the familiar material of his gloves. "Did Breda receive his orders?"

"He did, sir. He understands the situation better than anyone." Ross, like Hawkeye, was the very image of discipline. Her acting as Breda's contact here in Command had been a good choice on Mustang's part, and it was clear that the pair had actually come to respect each other as colleagues.

Breda had to maintain cover, learn what else he could, and do his best to not be in any upcoming crossfire. The hope was he wouldn't have to maintain cover once this was over, but just in case the plan fell through, having him still be in the cult's good graces would make trying again more realistic.

They would need to set up throughout this evening and the next day, quietly and carefully, to be ready to ambush the Guardians before they even had a chance to do any damage to Central, whether they even could or not. Mustang would do everything he could to make sure these nutjobs wouldn't bring further misery to the city or its people.

Mustang finally took the gloves out of his pocket and slipped them on. "Very good. Let's get to work, ladies."

Cold, professional disapproval radiated from both women at his flippant comment. Mustang felt himself shrink a little even as he maintained what was in his mind a valiantly defiant smirk.

"Just get going, sir." Hawkeye chided, and after performing a near-simultaneous salute alongside Ross, they turned on their heels and marched back out of the office. Mustang paused only to take a single deep breath before following them.

* * *

 _Author's Notes_

 _So, about that whole 'slow to upload' spiel in the previous AN... Yeah..._

 _Well, this chapter was ready to go as well, and I felt that, considering the blurb I put up for this story, that it made sense to actually show the first part of that plot rather than leave you with just the prologue. So, here we actually have the beginning of the plot being advertised. Now it really is going to be slower going getting chapters out, but despite that, I hope you enjoy this taster._

 _Trivia time:_

 _I've tried to find a happy compromise between using historical events and people as described here accurate to history, and yet in the spirit of the FMA 2003 series and CoS._

 _The ban on the Nazis, and its ineffectiveness, are both true to history, and Hans Michael Frank was a real member of the Thule Society, though it's likely he did not remain with them during the 1920s; and the Nazi party, acting as the party lawyer, later becoming Hitler's personal lawyer. He did flee to Austria for a time and returned to Munich in 1924._

 _Gustav Stresemann was also a real German politician, and one of the most prominent figures of government in the Weimar Republic, though I'll probably have more to say about him in the next chapter._

 _In terms of the Amestrian side of the story, I cannot begin to tell you how painstaking it felt to try and get the details of characters, events and the way the universe worked right for this story, considering what I am inevitably going to add on top of it. I'm not going to pretend that I'll get it all right, or that I won't have to make some tweaks to things. That's the reality of fanfiction, really. I do hope to try and maintain the structure and spirit of the first anime series as best I can, so we'll see how that turns out._


	3. Plans Made, Journeys Begun

**2 – Plans Made, Journeys Begun**

The first time Edward and Alphonse had met Gustav Stresemann in person, it had come as quite a shock seeing him. Al had actually been the one to cry out loud, though the matter had been smoothed over, and Stresemann had chalked it up to nerves.

It wasn't his fault, after all, that he happened to be this world's lookalike for Father Cornello.

Even the slight differences of having hair around the back and sides of his otherwise bald head, and a neat little moustache, hadn't obscured who he reminded them of in the slightest. Cornello, the power-hungry old demagogue, had been a troubling enemy of the Elrics both. He had manipulated an entire city with promises of divine miracles in his quest for power. The brothers, therefore, had some reservations about the kind of man that Stresemann was, and how he was going to treat them.

Thankfully, after talking to the man, seeing his efforts, and working with him for several months, any notion that Stresemann was the same kind of smooth-talking tyrant that Cornello was had been shot down. Granted, there were a few things about the man and his views that Edward didn't care for, but Stresemann had proven himself, first and foremost, a pragmatist. He wanted his country to recover from its suffering, and his way of doing that was proving much more effective and helpful than, say, blaming all the minorities and old governments for it all and then attempting violent revolutions.

In his capacity as the country's Foreign Minister and one-time Chancellor, Gustav Stresemann was shaping up to be the man all but holding Germany together at the moment. His exhaustive efforts to drag his country out of its darkest days and help it heal were, despite the problems it generated, bearing fruit. He was also one of the few sensible politicians in the country with the power and the support to keep himself where he could continue to do good.

He'd been intrigued to speak with Ed and Al about their part in that whole trouble with the National Socialists and the Thule Society; their efforts for the Republic were to be commended, really. And Ed's knowledge of rockets could bear fruit for Germany's future, after all, where they lead the way for the world in scientific innovation in that field, and maybe others besides. And a bomb made with uranium, you say? Well, Ed and Al seem well qualified to ensure that such a terrible thing is either recovered from the Society, or safely disposed of.

Yes, Minister Stresemann had been most accommodating. Ed suspected that it was convenient to have them all in a position where he could keep an eye on them, and yet also have them at arm's length while he focused on Germany's recovery.

As a matter of fact, Ed had been pleasantly surprised to see how Germany in general seemed to be moving away from the social and economic chaos that led to the Nazis attempting their coup in Munich. New thinking in government, a new currency to combat the insane inflation of the early years of the German Republic, and new deals made with other countries, mainly with the United States of America, all served to keep the slowly recovering nation relatively healthy. Ed had even heard that several treaties had been drafted in Switzerland to help establish Germany's proper borders with its neighbours, and that these would be signed between those nations back in England in December, easing political tensions in Europe considerably.

Even if it wasn't his homeland, Ed had lived in Germany with Hohenheim and Alfons, and now with Noah and Alphonse, long enough that it had come to feel like home. That was especially true considering how many parallels Germany had with Amestris. To see it finally starting to recover its economy and its pride, all without having to incite armed insurrections and exploit foreign worlds for war plunder, made him happy.

Minister Stresemann was, understandably, a very busy man. So, Edward, Alphonse and Noah made a point of being at his office in the Reichstag on time, and they understood that they might be left waiting for a few minutes while he finished up other governmental business. Fortunately, though, they had only been sat down for a minute before they were politely escorted into his office by his secretary.

Edward had always been quite approving of how relatively unassuming and reasonable a space Stresemann's office actually was. It wasn't a tiny space, by any means, but it lacked the sense of grandeur that characterised the Reichstag building from the outside. Everything in the room was well-made and well-kept, as befitted an important member of government, but it was all comfortable and subdued, adding an impression that this could also be the private office of a well-to-do man in his own home. A table had been moved into the office that hadn't been there the last time Edward had, placed a decent space away from Stresemann's desk.

Sat at that desk, hands clasped together and resting on the covered surface, was Stresemann himself. He wore his usual neatly pressed suit, and his little moustache was as well-groomed as ever. He was not a man inclined to smile much, and this was true today as much as any other. He'd only smiled what Edward considered a genuine smile when he and Alphonse's had agreed to devote their unique knowledge of rocketry and chemistry to Germany's benefit. They had both been of some use to him in that regards, at least, even with his being fully aware of their true goals.

The man opposite from him was a stranger to Edward. Tall and slim, probably in his thirties, in a fine suit and with very neat blonde hair and green eyes. He carried a brown leather document case with him, clasped in his pale hands.

Upon the three newcomers being in the room, Stresemann and the stranger stood up, and the former raised a hand in greeting. "Good afternoon, Elrics. Ms Noah. Thank you for being so prompt."

"Good afternoon, Minister. We weren't gonna miss something this important." Edward mirrored the minister's hand gesture, as did Alphonse next to him. Edward spared a polite nod in the stranger's direction. Noah bowed her head respectfully, first to Stresemann, and then to his guest.

"Allow me to introduce you to Mr Ulrich Eusebie." Stresemann gestured to the man as he introduced him. "He is the one who has come forward with the information on the bomb."

"It is a pleasure to meet you all." Ulrich Eusebie spoke with a smooth, clear Hessian accent, and he nodded respectfully at them all but made no gesture to approach them. Then he frowned, and his head quirked in curiosity as he regarded Edward.

"Something the matter, Mr Eusebie?" Ed didn't enjoy being scrutinised as he currently was. Eusebie's eyes had a sharp quality to them that made his stare come across as a little manic.

"You are Edward Elric, yes?" Eusebie asked, sounding a little incredulous. "Forgive me, but despite what I've heard about you, I did not expect you to actually be so short."

The old, long-lingering indignation swelled up inside Edward as he hissed angrily and bared his teeth in a mighty grimace, but he managed to rein in his temper enough to not start yelling. Instead, he forced his expression into a constipated smile and replied, with equally forced levity, "I'm not short, I'm fun-sized!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Ed could see that Al looked both embarrassed and amused in equal measure, and Noah had turned her face away to hide how she looked.

To his credit, Eusebie had the common decency to suddenly looked embarrassed, realising his words had agitated Ed. "My sincerest apologies, Mr Elric; my manners escaped me. It's good to meet you at last. Minister Stresemann was just telling me about the esteemed brothers, Edward and Alphonse Elric, and their dedicated assistant Ms Noah."

Edward grinned and gestured to Alphonse and Noah on both sides of him. "Good to meet you too. But Noah's more than just an assistant. She's been a good friend to me and Alphonse for years now."

The support for her caused Noah to make a noise in her throat. It was something she'd picked up in the last year or so while working in the office that indicated she was happy to be complimented.

Eusebie raised a single eyebrow and smiled a quirky little smile. "So I understand. I've heard quite a lot about your travels in regard to scientific advancement, and in finding the elusive uranium bomb."

"So then, what's your history, Mr Eusebie? We've not heard of you during our travels." Alphonse's question was earnest, and Ed was curious to hear about this stranger's origin as well.

Eusebie closed his eyes for a moment, apparently considering his words. "Well, I run a small Free Corps out in the Frankfurt, but unlike most, my group isn't interested in political disputes. Instead, I sought to keep the peace in this country for everyone in it, as do the men that work for me. We've offered our services to the people and occasionally to local governments in the various states. We've taken great care over the years to investigate all potential threats to the country. That's how I came to learn about the device and started looking into it privately."

As he explained himself, Eusebie began to open his document case. "On that note, I must insist on showing you what I have been able to gather now. Minister Stresemann was very kind to give us what time we have here."

Edward nodded, understanding that they needed to cover what information they could while Stresemann had the time to play his part in this. For all that this was clearly a priority, the man did have his own work regarding foreign affairs to attend to.

He and the others were shown to the newly placed table by Stresemann, and they gathered around as Eusebie delicately reached into his case. He pulled out a photograph, which he handed to Edward, his expression growing serious. "The first order of business, then. Can the three of you confirm that the device in this image is the uranium bomb?"

As Edward stared at the black and white photograph, he immediately recognised the little metal sphere on display in it. It was mounted in some kind of metal framework, as if it was on display at a museum. "Yeah, that's the one. No doubt about it."

"Excellent." Eusebie leaned forward to tap the photograph's edge. "Two days ago, I received a tip from an inside source that the Thule Society has been contacted by a potential buyer for the bomb. An offer was made to them for a stockpile of gold, weapons, and something that was only referred to as 'Heiderich's Legacy', which the Society agreed to trade the bomb for."

Ed snapped his gaze up to Eusebie, eyes wide, a shock of emotion running through him. "Wait, Heiderich? As in Alfons Heiderich?"

"We have a working theory." Stresemann interjected at this point, and everyone turned to face him. "After the events at Karl Haushofer's villa two years ago, the authorities in Munich went in to recover any materials that were of interest to the government. There were some stockpiles of weapons and ammunition, and parts used in their flying warships. Most importantly, there were documents suggesting that the Society had kept the schematics for their airships within the villa as well."

"Schematics…" It was Noah who spoke up, quietly. "I remember… During what happened, when I was with Eckhart…" For a moment, her eyes darted to Edward, and he saw guilt flashing through them. He nodded subtly, and she went on, "I grabbed her shoulders, and then she struck me. I saw a lot of her memories afterwards."

Eusebie quirked an eyebrow upwards, clearly curious, but he didn't interrupt. Stresemann's face became a frown for a second, but it passed just as quickly. Edward had seen how initially sceptical Stresemann had been of Noah's clairvoyance, until she had demonstrated it on him with his permission, and he had seemed amazed and a little put off by the experience. But he'd never said a bad word about Noah afterwards, so Edward hadn't felt it important to make a thing out of it.

Noah went on, "One of those memories was her with Haushofer, discussing the airships in his study. He showed her details of the schematics, then he stored them away. He had a safe in there that he put them in."

Stresemann nodded slowly. "Munich Command's report to us said they were able to get into Haushofer's office while they handled the recovery. Haushofer seemed keen to get rid of anything associating him with the Thule Society. But they also say that when they got to his office, they found his safe had been broken into, and it looked like something had been taken out of it. Haushofer told them that the schematics he'd stored in there had been stolen, but he didn't know who had done it."

"I'd think that he managed to leave the safe unlocked for someone he trusted to take them." Edward felt angry at the thought of how that man had weaselled his way out of facing justice in the end. "He could appear more innocent that way."

Karl Haushofer had never actually been arrested or convicted of anything major after the Thule Society's use of his home. There had been no evidence of him officially endorsing or assisting the Nazi revolution attempt, and he had a lot of powerful friends in the German military who were keen to look out for him. So, he'd gotten off relatively unscathed, and these days he was comfortably contributing to political journals and educational institutes. Edward and Alphonse hadn't been in any position to do anything about it, with their own mission to focus on, but it had always pissed him off to see Haushofer doing so well despite what he'd been part of.

"That was what we thought as well, even if we couldn't prove it." Stresemann gestured languidly as he spoke. "We looked into what we could, and we thought that the Society must have the plans. But now it is worth considering whether Haushofer was telling the truth. Maybe someone else had something to do with the theft."

Eusebie reached into the case and pulled out another photograph. "There isn't any solid evidence here to confirm that the buyer for the bomb and the schematics thief are the same. What I _can_ confirm is the identity of the one who contacted the Society." He produced and laid out a second and third photograph for the three of them to look at.

One of the photos depicted an image of a striking young man in a suit, looking off somewhere when the photo had been taken. He had smooth skin, a sharp if slight jawline, and a pointedly neutral expression. His hair was neat and slicked back. He appeared quite a fine example of a young, prosperous man in the prime of his life. His clothing was another matter, though, and as far as Edward was concerned, he looked quite eccentric. A well-made suit was normal here, sure, but even in this still image the quality of tailoring was clear. And most men he'd seen didn't wear sunglasses, especially not ones quite so fancy as in the photo. Despite this, Ed couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu looking at the man's features.

"The man's name is Winslow Hart." Eusebie smoothed back his hair as he described the man in the photograph. "A rich, young eccentric, with English and German heritage. He made his riches in gold and diamond mines in South Africa, and he owned a gunsmithing business in Switzerland until last year, which was known for producing exceptional quality commissions for wealthy clientele."

"And what happened last year?" Alphonse asked, looking up from the photo at Eusebie, who in turn met his gaze.

"That January, he closed his business, abandoned his mines and disappeared from the public eye. We don't have any record of where he went, or what he's doing. All I know is that his wealth remains intact, and I believe he is responsible for the theft of those airship schematics."

"So, what's a man rich from gold, jewels and gunsmithing need with a uranium bomb and rockets?" Ed asked, somewhat incredulous.

Eusebie scratched his cheek as he very delicately shrugged. "We can't say for certain. Hart was and is very reclusive regarding his private life. Despite the government's best efforts…" he inclined his head respectfully towards Stresemann, who merely nodded in response, "… as well as our own, we've been unable to find out where he's hiding, or what his motives are. There have been rumoured sightings around Europe on occasion, but he is never spotted in public at all."

At this point, Stresemann shook his head and sighed. "Even with the work we've done to stabilise the country, a lot of people still feel afraid, angry and betrayed by the government." The minister sounded grave as he spoke. "Groups like the Thule Society and the Nazis have rich sponsors and willing groups of young men and women to serve as the raw material of war. This Winslow Hart might well be another radical thinking he can change Germany to his liking, for everyone else's own good."

Edward nodded. It was very true. It felt like every day, but he still heard angry murmurs and whispers from people who were still in poverty, still in fear, still clinging to anger and grasping for control. Even if the Nazis had been defeated in Munich, they had been re-established as a political organisation earlier that year, they still had supporters among all walks of life, and the rumblings of another war coming had never really faded away. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch to believe that Winslow Hart might involve himself with that kind of thing, especially if he was willing to make deals with the last of the Thule Society.

Looking down at the other photo Eusebie had laid out, Edward saw what looked like an image of a telegram on a table, but the words were just small enough that making out the words at a glance was difficult.

Seeing his attention on the photograph, Eusebie elaborated, "The telegram you see there is from Winslow Hart to Karl Harrer, current leader of the Society. It confirms the agreement to the purchase of the bomb, and that Hart will personally attend the transaction at Harrer's chosen destination."

Edward read over the text in the image carefully, and both the names mentioned appeared there. The missive was short and to the point, and the format of the telegram made Edward inclined to believe it was genuine.

Eusebie pulled out two more photographs from his bag and put them down. An image of another man, clean shaven, with short hair, wearing a military coat. The other image was of what looked like some kind of lodge, built on a hill against the backdrop of a mountain range.

He tapped the photograph of the mountain lodge once, holding his finger next to it. "The location agreed upon is here; the Pension Moritz boarding house in the Bavarian Alps."

"Nice-looking place," Ed quipped. He was only half-joking, though. The picture had been taken at a good angle to get the Alps looking good in the backdrop.

"Key members of both the Nazis and the Thule Society have boarded at the Pension Moritz in the last decade, including Rudolf Hess and the late Dietlinde Eckhart. Apparently, the Nazi Fuhrer completed his recent book there." A dismissive hand gesture indicated Eusebie's opinion of that particular piece of trivia. "It's known turf to the Society, so I'm sure the location was agreed upon by both them and Hart."

Edward and Noah nodded simultaneously, apparently reaching the same conclusion. Al just looked thoughtful. As far as Ed was concerned, though, this was the best lead that they had regarding the bomb in months, and he was prepared to let this play out where he could get involved. "Alright," he said at last. "When is this exchange taking place?"

"Three days from now, which gives us just enough time to get there ourselves and recover the bomb, assuming that you agree to help me do so." Eusebie respectfully inclined his head towards Edward, who pointedly chose to remain stoic in this instance. Apparently assuming Ed's lack of reaction meant he could continue, Eusebie tapped the photograph of the man in uniform.

"I have an inside agent within the Thule Society, named Rudi Becker." Eusebie tapped the image of the uniformed man to indicate that he was this agent. "We have been working to try and acquire the bomb for the purpose of destroying it. That kind of power shouldn't exist in this world."

Edward saw Alphonse frown out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to him just in time for him to speak up. "But, if you want to destroy the bomb, then why didn't you come to us or the government sooner?"

Across the table, Stresemann raised an eyebrow inquisitively as he looked at their guest. Edward doubted the minister had neglected to ask this same question when Eusebie first made contact, but he also seemed to want to know how the man would answer it coming from his subordinates.

"A fair question," Eusebie replied with a small smile. "While I knew the government were searching for this device, and that you were their agents, I was convinced that my plan to infiltrate the Society would only work if I didn't associate with you at the time. They're on the verge of collapse as it is, and they're getting desperate. If they believed that the government were behind any attempt to acquire the bomb now, they might feel pressured enough to use it. Who knows the scale of the destruction they might cause?"

"Alright, so why come here now, if you didn't plan on working with us?" Edward shared in his brother's scepticism, trying to scope out the man's intention. Eusebie had somehow managed to get an awful lot of work done for someone that Ed hadn't heard of while searching for the bomb himself, and _now_ he wanted to be forthcoming about everything?

Eusebie raised his hands up in a gesture of innocence. "I had originally planned to have my agent acquire the bomb from the Society, or else contact them with a purchase offer of my own. Once the bomb was in my possession, I would have reached out to you and your brother to see the device safely disposed of. Mr Hart simply beat me to it."

Ed stared at Eusebie, trying to gauge whether he took the man at his word. He wouldn't fully trust him just yet, but so far it made more sense to play along and find out what else he could, for his, Al's and Noah's sake, if no-one else's.

He broke his gaze with Eusebie momentarily and shrugged. "If you say so."

With a curt nod, Eusebie made it clear that in fact, yes, he did say so. "With the situation being what it is, now that Mr Becker is in no position to get near the bomb, I had little time to act and few options available to me. So, I felt it best to contact Minister Stresemann now, and get you three involved."

Edward mulled over what had been presented. Despite his reservations, he was still prepared to take Eusebie at his word for now and agree to aid him. The evidence presented was certainly compelling, and he was still convinced that Stresemann would have taken the liberty of checking all this information before calling Ed, Al and Noah in to see it for themselves. Even if he didn't fully trust Ulrich Eusebie, he had come to trust Stresemann's practicality in matters such as this.

Looking over what had been presented on the table one more time, he then turned his gaze up to Alphonse and to Noah in turn. "What do you guys think? It's the best lead we've seen on the bomb in months."

Al had also been staring at the photographs on the table carefully, keeping his thoughts to himself. Edward watched as he finally looked up at him, eyes wide and glittering with anticipation, accompanied by a confident, friendly smirk.

"I say we go for it, Brother. I'm thinking the same way about all this, and we can handle ourselves if things get out of hand." That was Al's way of saying that he was ready to deal with this whole thing being either a dead end or even a trap, and Edward didn't doubt that they could come out of any problems without too much issue.

After a short pause, clearly deep in thought, Noah nodded decisively. "The evidence is pretty convincing, and you two have your minds made up. If you're both going, then I'm going too."

Edward grinned, happy to have both of their support. He looked to Stresemann, and said, "We just need your approval, Minister. Are we clear to go on this?"

Stresemann nodded, and Edward would swear afterwards that the faintest twitch of a smile darted across the minister's face before it vanished. "I'll manage the paperwork personally. Less chance of a leak that way. Just make sure that you conduct yourselves with some discretion. The President still doesn't think much of having you three acting on this, but so far I've convinced him that you are the best we have."

"Hmph! Well, we'd hate to make you look bad in front of the President, Stresemann." Edward hadn't met the country's most recent President in person, but from what he's heard, Paul von Hindenburg was perfectly happy to keep it that way, and to focus on the parts of acting as President that he deemed important. Ed couldn't care less what the old man thought of him, only that he seemed content to let Stresemann have them search for the uranium bomb. "Don't you worry, we'll keep things quiet."

"I do hope you understand the full implications of what acquiring this bomb means, Mr Elric." Stresemann's tone became very severe. "It is not enough that such a weapon could do more damage than anything dreamed of before in history. Look at the political consequences. Despite our struggles, the treaties we are drafting with the other nations of Europe will help secure further peace and stability for Germany, right when it needs it most. If that bomb is not recovered and destroyed soon, if it is discovered that we allowed such a weapon to remain at large, or worse than that, if it was used by anyone with ties to Germany, any chance of our country regaining the world's trust will be in tatters."

Ed's face morphed into a look of concern at the thought of what Stresemann was suggesting. Then, with a swell of determination, he replied, "Understood. As I said, we'll keep this quiet."

"Good." Stresemann declared with finality. "In that case, I think that we're done here. Mr Eusebie, once again, thank you for coming forward with this information."

Eusebie reached out and shook Stresemann's hand. "All that matters to me is that the bomb is safely disposed of. I'm happy to help accomplish that goal." Walking around the table, Eusebie held out his hand to Edward as well. "I look forward to working with you on this, Mr Elric."

Edward took the proffered hand. Eusebie had a very firm handshake, and Ed held back a wince at a stinging sensation in his palm as Eusebie squeezed just a little tighter than he was used to. The man shook Al's hand as well, and offered a small, polite bow to Noah, who returned it.

Gathering up the photographs and putting them back in his case, Eusebie approached the door to Stresemann's office, turned to face Ed, Al and Noah, and said, "I intend to set out to the Pension Moritz by train tomorrow. You should meet me at the station at 8 o'clock if you intend to join us there. I'll be waiting for you all at the entrance."

"We'll be there." Edward replied candidly. "Count on it."

With a smile and a nod, Eusebie excused himself, and walked out of the office, leaving the three of them alone with Stresemann, who made his way back to his own desk and sat down. Contemplating his typewriter for a moment, the Foreign Minister half-turned to the them all and said, "My secretary has some files to take with you and study at your convenience. They include what I could learn on Mr Eusebie on such short notice. His timing is quite convenient, and I know that neither of us are given to trusting conveniences easily."

Ed nodded, easily agreeing with Stresemann's words. "We'll keep an eye on him as well. But we've gotta focus on getting that bomb. And whatever it takes, we _will_ get it."

"Good to see you've got your motivation back so strong, Elric." Stresemann allowed an unprecedented second smile to dart across his face, before he turned to his typewriter and began work. Without turning back to them, he continued, "I will need a full report of what happened as soon as the mission is completed. I trust that it will be good news when it arrives."

"I'll make sure to keep you informed of everything, Minister," Noah replied, stepping up to take on the task on the group's behalf.

At Noah's comment, Stresemann finally did look up again, pausing his typing and taking her in. "You know, my dear, you should consider getting these two to write their own reports from time to time. It is most ungentlemanly to simply expect your service in that regard."

Both of the Elrics' jaws went slack at the accusation. While Alphonse looked the more shame-faced of the two, Edward just looked indignant, even if inside he couldn't help but be embarrassed at the truth of Stresemann's words.

Noah, though, merely laughed it off, and said, "It's quite alright. Someone has to look after them, so they can focus on their heroics."

Edward made an undignified sound at Noah's jab, reminiscent of a distressed billy goat. Alphonse seemed to retreat further into his shell of embarrassment with the whimper of a child caught mid cookie-theft.

There was a glimmer in Stresemann's eye to betray his amusement at the brothers' awkwardness, and nothing else besides. It passed quickly, and he nodded in understanding. "I look forward to hearing of your progress in this matter, Elrics. Ms Noah. Don't let me detain you." And with that, Stresemann turned back to his typewriter, making it clear that the conversation and the meeting were both over.

Edward, Alphonse and Noah all extended a polite, "Minister," to Stresemann, before making their way to the door. Edward, perhaps focusing too much on being 'gentlemanly', made sure to hold the door open for Noah to exit first, with Al following through shortly afterwards, before he left the comfortable office space himself and quietly closed the door behind him.

On the way back through the halls of the Reichstag, Edward reflected on what Stresemann had said to him. He had been right. Getting this lead had been a catalyst for Ed's motivation, his stubborn determination to see something through to the end. He could almost feel the fire behind his eyes, lighting his way, fuelling his steps, and he couldn't help but grin. It was good to get back into action at last.

* * *

The house felt very quiet today, she noticed. It wasn't exactly a concern, to be fair, but she became aware enough of it that it distracted her from her work.

Winry Rockbell sat at the table in the living room, listlessly tinkering with Den's automail leg as the dog sat on its little bench next to her. She knew the process well enough that she could do it instinctively, but even trying to focus on her work right now seemed more troublesome than it was worth.

For his part, Den was keeping well-behaved and still, as he always did. He seemed very receptive of how she felt right now, as well, and he kept his head down, perhaps feeling the same way she did at the moment.

Granny Pinako would probably give her a gentle scolding if she let herself do a subpar job because of a wandering mind. But she would also understand why, given the time of year.

For the last couple of years, she had made a pilgrimage out of going first to Central, then to Dublith, so that she could pay her respects to Maes Hughes and Izumi Curtis. She had known them well enough in life that she missed them, and she wanted to remember them for herself. But she also felt a sense of obligation to remember them on behalf of Ed and Al. It gave her a chance to remember them as well, even if they were still alive in another world she couldn't reach.

She had everything packed for the journey, and she had spent the day managing the last few chores and odd jobs that needed doing before she left the house in Granny's care.

Winry knew that the old woman could still handle herself well enough, even with her age starting to catch up with her these days. She may have gotten a little slower the last year, but her wits and will were as sharp as ever. Her tongue was, too, when it needed to be.

Still, it meant that Winry could make this trip without worrying about the house or Den, and she wasn't going to sniff at the convenience of it.

She finished the last delicate procedures to Den's automail, and then stroked his head with a smile.

"All done, boy," she told him. The dog let his tongue loll out contentedly as it stood, its ears perking up. Winry stood up as well, collecting her tools in their carry case on the table and closing it. It was always a comfort how easy it could be to enjoy Den's company. He was getting the same as Granny, in many ways. He was old for a dog, and there was no way of knowing how long he would live after a while.

She had been thinking a lot about the deaths of those she cared for, Winry realised. Perhaps visiting friends already gone brought it out in her. The thoughts just slipped into her head before she knew what to think, and it always left her feeling morbid and cold afterwards. But she did all she could not to let the thoughts linger. She would have to talk to Granny about it sometime soon.

She made her way through the house, across to the workshop, and tidied her tools away in the cupboards around her workbench. Everything was neat and in order, as it should be. She had already taken her travel bag down from her room earlier, but she felt the need to look over the workshop one more time, taking in the space. A tiny thrill went through her body, thinking on how she would miss being here, even if it was only for a short time.

Everything was tidy and as it should be, so she was content to leave the room again and head to the waiting room. Granny Pinako was stood next to Winry's bag when she got there.

"You ready to set off, then?" Granny asked kindly. She had her pipe in her mouth, the other end held in a steady, wrinkled hand. "You've got everything you need packed?"

"Don't worry, I do." Winry replied, only slightly belatedly. "You know the care I take with these things. I get it from you, y'know."

"Well, I'm only getting older, Winry. I'm allowed to fuss over you whenever I want." Granny took a gentle puff of her pipe and smiled mischievously. "Are you heading out right now?"

Winry's expression became a little sad as she looked off to the corner of the waiting room. "Not just yet. There's one more thing I'd like to do before I go."

Granny turned and looked in the same direction as Winry, and she gave a 'hmm' in understanding as she saw what her granddaughter was referring to.

In the corner was the corkboard of old photographs the pair of them kept, to remember the good times they'd had, and to remember those they would never see again.

They both made their way over to it, and studied the many pictures pinned there. Most of the ones that drew Winry's attention were the little cluster with Ed and Al in, back from when they were kids or during early in their struggle to get their bodies back, for how that all turned out.

They'd never been able to get any photos of them from the later months of their travels, when the stakes had gotten so much higher and the feeling of everything so much darker. They didn't even have a photo of Al from when he _had_ returned to his body, robbed of his memories, and wondered Amestris in search of Ed. It made her feel sad that they didn't have anything to help remember those later times, for as painful as had been at times.

Winry sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. "It's been almost two years since I last saw them both, Grandma. It's a lot of remembering and mourning to do all at the same time."

"Those boys were always stubborn." Pinako said with the gravity of old age wisdom. "If they believed they had to save the world, they would give everything they have to do it. I don't think they made the decision lightly, but I'm sure that they felt they had to."

Winry was still staring at the photos as she nodded and made a noise to make it clear she was listening. She felt Pinako's small hand taking her own, and she finally looked at the old woman, just as she continued.

"I know how much it hurt you when they were both gone, my dear, but I think you've handled it very well. You were so quiet for a while when you got first back from the battle in Central, but you seemed to get back into the swing of things after we talked about it."

"It hurt a lot, for a long time, knowing they were gone where I couldn't follow them. But I've gotten used to staying strong through the bad times that life brings. I get that from you as well, y'know." Winry smiled at Pinako and gave a light, affectionate squeeze of her hand.

The old woman shook her head lightly. "It might start with the Rockbell genes in you, young lady, but it's just as much the life you've lived that's taught you to be that way." With her free hand, she took another puff of her tobacco pipe. "Still, I don't know how you feel about Ed and Al these days. You just don't talk about them at all."

Winry looked surprised for a moment, and she considered Pinako's words. It was true that she never talked about the brothers with Granny. At first, it had been a matter of trying to come to terms with their loss to the world beyond the portal and finding her own way through. She'd still had a talk with Granny a few days after getting back from Central, and she'd bared her grief and fears to her. It had been a matter of catharsis, of finding an outlet to get the pain through her system and move on. And Pinako had really listened, and been that outlet, and offered the sage advice only grandmothers could give.

But now, after two years of life going past; working, travelling, seeing old friend that were still around… she still didn't really bring Ed or Al up much. Not out of a desire to forget them, but just because it wasn't something she needed to talk about.

A moment of realisation came over her, and she let her hand slip from Pinako's as she went closer to the photos. She studied them intently, remembering the events behind them as best she knew them.

One of the photos was in a frame in front of the board; of the brothers in suits, still children. She picked it up and looked down at it, feeling lost. The photo had been taken on the day of their mother's funeral. It was the only time she could remember them in suits. Yet despite the sorrow of the day, the pair both wore brave little smile on their faces in the picture, showing courage in the face of immense grief even as young as they had been. It was the only smile they'd worn that day, but it was the only one anyone needed to see.

It made her feel a little sad to think about, but not as much as she expected. And that was what shocked her a little.

"I… I mean, I miss them, but… I just don't feel all that bad about it anymore." It felt… frightening to admit that. Winry wasn't sure what to make of it, but she kept speaking, kept letting the words get her feelings out.

"It's not the same as with Mom and Dad. I was just a kid when they died. I dealt with it differently. And I know Ed and Al are still alive on the other side somewhere, but they're just as gone. I can't reach them any more than I can reach my parents. And yet I'm more okay with that than I thought I would be. I can think about Ed and Al and how far apart we are, and…" Her voiced hitched, and she breathed in and out slowly to keep going. "And it doesn't hurt when I think about it. The sadness is there, but I barely feel it. And that… scares me."

Next to her, Granny didn't say anything, but her expression changed to one of curiosity. "What about it scares you, dear?" she asked.

Winry looked away, face pinching in frustration. "Ed and Al have always been there, always been a part of my life. Seeing them go through all the things they did when they were here was one thing, and I was worried sick about them so often. I did crazy things with them, for them, and for myself because of them. And then they're both just gone. I feel like I should be more upset with them not in my life anymore. I miss them, I really do, but I'm still okay with them being where they are, and for me to just carry on without them. It feels like… like I don't care enough about them anymore."

There was a moment of silence, where Pinako's took yet another pull of her pipe before taking the tip of it out of her mouth and holding it pensively. Winry felt a little blossom of worry and regret flower in her chest, thinking about just how Granny was about to react to what she had confessed. She knew it was irrational, but worry led to expecting bad outcomes to things, and right now was no exception.

"I think that's a lot of weight to keep on your shoulders, for a start." Pinako said, a hint of reproach in her voice. "But I would be lying if I said I didn't understand the feeling."

She got closer to Winry again and looked keenly at the other photographs on the board. "You're growing up more and more every year, Winry, and you've got a lot of growing to do yet, trust me. People will come into your life all the time, and they'll just as suddenly drift away, even if they've been in your life as long as you can remember. But you've grown up tough and assertive. Folks will always handle grief differently as they get older."

Pinako smiled a poignant little smile. "Look at _me_ , my dear. I can't remember the last time I cried about anything, and that's not so bad as far as I'm concerned. I've had my share of tears for this life."

That got Winry thinking about all the times she had seen Granny confronted with tragedy. Even when they got the Mom and Dad had died in Ishbal, while she had been crying her eyes out sat at the table, Granny had stood by herself and taken the loss of her son and daughter-in-law with calm and quiet stoicism. Not a single tear was shed, even if her grief had been clear.

"You get used to loss and people drifting out of your life as you grow up." There was a profound softness in Pinako's voice as she spoke now. "It can seem like you don't care as much, but it's a sign that you've matured, and you can handle the sorrow better than you did as a child."

Once again, Winry felt Granny take her hand, and she saw that the old woman was looking at the photo in the frame she was holding. Looking back at it, she took in the perseverant smiles of Ed and Al with even more scrutiny.

"I've never doubted that you care about those boys with everything you have, and you would never let them take your friendship for granted. But I think it's because of that friendship that you trust them now."

"Trust them to do what?" Winry asked, glancing at the board as well.

"Trust them to look after themselves and live their own lives well, because they have that chance where they are now. Trust them to remember you and hold on to the bond you shared the same way you do and use it to stay strong. They wouldn't say it, but those boys counted on you back then, and cared about you just as deeply as you cared about them."

Winry couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the truth that Ed and Al didn't ever really speak about their feelings when they came home from their travels. Well, more Ed than Al, but even so. But Granny was right, of course. The two of them had been family to her as much as Pinako or her parents. And looking back on it, she knew in their own bull-headed way, they had both cared about her. Heck, they'd even fought once as kids over who would marry her, so they must have been smitten with her for a time. Maybe one or both of them still had been, and just held it back.

That thought was the one that made her pause, since it cut so close to what she felt the most keenly. But Winry's silence was not lost on Granny, who gently took the framed picture from her hands and placed it back in front of the board where it belonged. When she turned back to Winry, her sad smile still there.

"I know there's more to this, Winry," she said, a knowing glisten in her eyes. "It's scary to admit that you might have moved on from your feelings for Edward, yes?"

Winry's eyes widened in shock. Her grandmother had such a surprising knack to find out what she didn't want to talk about.

"I was that obvious, was I?" Winry could only speak in a quiet voice.

"I'm your grandmother. I can see right through you sometimes, young lady." Pinako replied with a good-natured smirk. Winry chuckled involuntarily again. She should have known better than to think Granny wouldn't be able to figure out her own thoughts before she could.

"Ed really was too focused on his mission to notice that you loved him like you did, and you never really stopped, even while he was alone on that other world. When Al went after him, I think we all had to realise that it was what they had to do and let them go. And if you find that you're able to let go of Ed, even if you loved him, then it might seem wrong at first, but I know that it most certainly isn't wrong, or unkind of you to do it. Trust me, Winry."

Considering her grandmother's words very carefully, Winry closed her eyes for a moment. She enjoyed the silence, the chance to just be there with her thoughts and take stock. It did feel kind of awful accepting that she could move on from Ed when two years felt like no time at all. That was the other thing about growing up she'd noticed. The years just didn't last as long as they used to.

An image of Ed, confident and driven, came to her mind's eye, wearing the shabby, well-made coat and suit she had seen in him when he left for good. He must have known, even as she was helping fix his automail for the last time, that he probably wouldn't see her again. And he hadn't said goodbye or confessed any feelings or anything dramatic like that. There hadn't been time, and it wasn't his style. He had trusted her to know him, and to look after herself the same way she had looked after him.

Granny said it was okay to let him go. Winry agreed. And most importantly, she reasoned that Ed probably would as well. He had never been particularly sentimental, and he had learned that action was the only way to get anywhere. No, Winry had no doubt that Ed would be happy to know that she could move on and be happy without him, even if he might miss her the same way she missed him.

She opened her eyes and smiled, her eyes sparkling a little with the beginnings of contentment. "Thanks, Grandma. It feels good to make the weight on my shoulders easier to bear."

Pinako nodded sagely, returning to smoking her pipe. "I'm happy to help, my dear." She straightened up her eyes focused intently. "Now, you'd better get going, or you'll miss the next train."

Nodding and smiling a little wider, Winry followed Pinako back to her travel bag and picked it up. "I'll be sure to call you while I'm in Central." She said.

"Didn't you say you'd be meeting Miss Sheska when you were there?"

"I did, but she's on an assignment with Colonel Mustang's team at the moment, so she said she might not be able to make it."

Pinako's face became a little sharper at the mention of Mustang, but it passed just as swiftly. "Well, I hope she's able to get away to see you. You two get along so well with each other."

"Glad you think so. I hope I see her too." Winry had kept in contact with Sheska regularly for the past four years, and they always enjoyed spending some time in Central whenever Winry came to the city. There's was a good friendship, and Winry was grateful to have a friend like her.

Everything now sorted, Winry opened the front door to the house and outside into the cool breeze and clear air of Resembool. It was overcast today, and the rolling green fields and the ribbons of brown roads had their colour muted by the clouds, but it didn't look like there would be rain this evening.

Making her way down the steps, Winry turned to look up at Pinako, standing in the doorway, and waved to her eagerly. "Goodbye, Grandma! I'll see you in a week or so!"

"Goodbye, Winry. Have a nice trip, y'hear? Take care." Pinako returned the familial gesture with a smile.

Turning to face the road to the train station, Winry set off with renewed vigour, feeling a little clearer of head and lighter of spirits than she had all day. The trip might have sombre meaning behind it, but it was all a part of life. All things considered, Winry felt that despite the hurdles and the regrets she'd been through, her life as it stood was actually alright. And she could feel good about that. And so, one foot after the other, she did.

* * *

Pinako watched Winry as she disappeared down the hill, heading for the train station. Her pride for Winry and all that girl had accomplished was immeasurable. Yuriy and Sarah would surely feel the same way, wherever they were.

She made her way back inside the house, closing the front door behind her, and found Den padding around in the dining room when she went looking for the old dog. She stroked his head fondly as he looked at her with his big, dopey eyes.

"Just gonna be you and me for a while, old boy." She scritched Den behind his ear, which got his tongue lolling out quite happily. "I'm sure we'll manage without Winry for a week, won't we?"

Den only responded with more happy panting, which was just fine. Pinako knew how to manage the place, even if her joints were aching more than ever these days.

Her train of thought was interrupted by the telephone ringing in the corner. She reached it as quickly as she could and picked it up off its hook.

"Good afternoon, Rockbell prosthetic limb outfitters." She quickly spoke into the receiver.

"Can I speak to miss Winry Rockbell, please?" A soft, neutral female voice came back through the speaker. It sounded vaguely familiar to her.

"I'm afraid she's just left for a trip. She won't be back for at least a week. May I ask who's calling?"

There was a click as the caller hung up, with not another word of explanation given.

Pinako felt bemused and troubled. She knew about hosting the occasional rude caller, but this felt a little more ominous than that. Who would try to reach Winry without leaving details? What reason would they have to not want to be identified?

Suddenly, Pinako wanted to call her granddaughter back, to run after her and tell her to keep herself safe, but she knew that trying to catch up at her age would most likely see her collapsed on a dirt road nowhere near the train station in time. And it could be days before Winry next got to a phone.

She'd just have to try to find another way to check on her. And she could trust Winry to take care of herself these days. She certainly had the stubborn streak for it, and she wasn't a fool.

Pinako wondered if she was perhaps getting worried over nothing. Even so, she would try and make a few calls before the day was out and reach out to those who could check up on Winry when she reached Central. She hoped that whatever precautions she took wouldn't be needed in the end.

* * *

The time had arrived. After all the waiting, the planning, and the work, they were ready to act.

His excitement, his anticipation of finally achieving their goal was almost palpable. It tugged the corners of his mouth into a smile for a transient moment.

In his own private chamber, he adorned the necessary costume. He'd worn so many like it in the past, and none of them had quite been him. But soon, that would change. Soon, he could finally show who he really was to everyone, and he couldn't be happier to do it all.

Not just for himself, of course, but for his Mentor.

All the years that the old man had looked after him, educated and trained him, all to try and make him the best he could be, would pay off now. It made him so happy to make Mentor proud with how he had grown in the time they had shared.

They would work together to accomplish something incredible. The thought of what they were going to do made him feel a little sombre, but it all seemed necessary in the end. He just hoped, privately, that with all his strength, he had enough to play his part in all of it.

Adjusting the last parts of his clothes, he walked methodically over to his desk, and brushed his fingers over the wooden box placed on it. A shiver of anticipation ran up his spine. How long had he waited to finally use what was inside? It felt like too long, but the way he felt, he knew it was just his own excitement. With a calming breath, he opened the box and looked down at the contents.

Power shone back up at him, crystalline and crimson, and he smiled.

Mentor had done all he could to make sure this would only be to his benefit. All the effort that had been made for him, making sure he was ready for this, and he had prepared himself to make this step, to accept this power, and all the consequences that came with it.

Touching the stone inside the box with reverence, he could feel a shock of energy pass through his flesh, his body anticipating the strength to come. Strength that this world had never seen the like of, and never would again. Delicately, he picked it up and held it between his thumb and forefinger. It was such a small thing, really, but the glow it exuded was so strong that it filled his room with a red tint, giving it all such a dangerous glare.

For just a moment, he contemplated the stone, and what it meant. For him, for his Mentor, for the world. It was a serious thing that he was about to undertake, for the sake of everything. But he had long discussed what was to be done with Mentor, and he knew that, in the end, what they had to accomplish would be for the best.

Bringing the stone closer, he opened his mouth and placed it delicately onto his tongue, letting it slide towards his throat before swallowing. The light became normal, and he waited.

Soon enough, he felt the surge. The raw power coursed achingly through him, its vast potency becoming his own. He could feel his muscles and sinews tensing and relaxing as they became stronger and harder. Any fatigue in his system was washed away by the newfound strength.

He had never felt power like this before. He felt like new; like he could do anything.

As the surge faded, and the power remained, he came back to his senses, and he quashed his rapture with discipline. He could not afford to be arrogant, or overconfident, when setting out tonight. He knew that while the stone enhanced him beyond the strength and skill of any other man, it was his own strength and skill that defined him, and that his Mentor cared about. The stone and its might were but a means to an end.

Yes, it was he who defined the measure and use of the stone, not the other way around. He would not lose sight of that, for his own sake. For his Mentor's sake.

Straightening his back, and taking another deep breath, he turned smartly on his heel and made his way to the door. He and Mentor and the others would take dinner tonight before they set out, and they would all talk about things to come. Apparently, they were having spiced baked ham with assorted vegetables and dressing, and the old man had seen fit to uncork a bottle of fine claret to share and toast with. He was very glad that he and the others would enjoy a bit of extra luxury after their hard work.

It was a shame, now that he thought about it, just how soon it would be before the next red liquid he would see so much of would be blood. Such was his choice, and he would not shy from it now.

Soon enough, he reached the little dining hall and saw the table laid and everyone sat around it. Mentor was there amongst them, laying out the plates of food personally. He saw the old man look up at his approach and smile warmly, knowing what he had already done just minutes ago. They both shared a nod and a warm, familial smile.

Sometimes he couldn't help but reflect on just how happy and content he felt for knowing the old man. He would do whatever he could for him. It seemed a fair exchange for everything he had been given, after all.

* * *

 _Author's notes_

 _EDIT 02/10/18: Changed the description of Winslow Hart's appearance._

 _Now the plot starts to gain some traction, I hope. Thank you to those of you who have taken the time to read my burgeoning story. If you've enjoyed it, and you have any comments you wish to share in a review, please feel free. Oh, and for anyone wondering, Ulrich Eusebie's surname is pronounced in the German fashion: "Oi-zee-bee-eh".  
_

 _Trivia time:_

 _As mentioned last chapter, Gustav Stresemann was a real German politician, and he was accredited with having a big hand in Germany's recovery as a country in the mid-to-late 1920s. How successful he was is a matter of historical debate, but here I chose to focus on his efforts in a positive light, and tried to highlight his political pragmatism in his words to the Elrics. Historically, he died in October 1929 of a stroke.  
_

 _The Locarno Treaties, drafted in Switzerland in October 1925 and signed in London in December the same year, resulted in more concrete establishment of Germany's post WW1 borders, and normalised its relationship with much of Europe, though it was not universally positive or well-received in its implementation._

 _Karl Harrer was a member of the Thule Society and a founding member of the German Worker's Party, the precursor to the Nazi Party. He split from the Nazi party over disagreements about Adolf Hitler's leadership, and remained with the Thule Society until its dissolution in 1925, the year this story is set._

 _If any of the history behind this story intrigues, I wholeheartedly encourage you to go out and learn a little more about the Weimar Republic, particularly in how its struggles and failures eventually led to the rise of Nazi Germany._

 _Once again, writing the Amestrian side of things was more of a challenge, purely because I needed to get into Winry and Pinako's headspace, and try to imagine how they would think and respond to the situation I wrote them in._

 _And that last scene with characters and in places unknown? Well, telling you stuff about_ that _would be spoilers..._


	4. Raid on the Underground City

**3 – Raid on the Underground City**

"Hi, Roy! I just thought I'd call in and tell you I'm right at home."

"Hey, Elizabeth! Good to hear from you. You enjoying the view from your balcony?"

"Don't you know it. I got a good view of everything from here. The city lights are dazzling."

"Hah! I'll be out to take in the views myself soon enough."

"It's quite something, I'll say! Though I'm getting bored just watching all the people going about like worker ants."

"Well, don't worry, I'll be out soon to light up your night. Keep your eyes open, babe."

With a crackle of static, the radio signal ended, and Mustang replaced the handset on the chunky metal backpack Brosch was carrying. He turned to look at the men and women assembled with him.

Jean Havoc was staring at him with a smirk. "You just love playing the ladies' man, right chief?"

"Stow it, Havoc." He replied curtly. "Hawkeye's got an overview of the mission area, so we're all good to move in."

Around him, his team were gathered in a dusty room. Aside from Brosch carrying the radio transceiver on his back, they all wore webbing over their uniforms for pouches of ammo and other equipment. Havoc had his shotgun primed, while Ross had the squad's submachine gun, and Brosch and Falman were using rifles.

With Hawkeye hidden away somewhere else in the city, and Fuery handling communications with Sheska off-site, Mustang felt his team were a little thin on the ground. But they were all consummate professionals when it came to them operating in the field, and his flame alchemy would help even the odds considerably.

"Alright, remember that we're just the advance force. As soon as we're in position, or if the Guardians try to open the portal, I send up the flare, and we round the ones here up. We secure and hold that location as best we can until our backup clear the city and link up with us. We're authorised to use lethal force if necessary but try and take some of them alive."

"Understood, sir." Ross sounded off, and the rest of the fireteam parroted similar statements.

Mustang took a look out of the window next to him. From here, he had a decent overview of this area of the underground city. Most of the hidden city, despite the scars of invasion that befell Amestris, was intact and easy to navigate. Typical, then, that the Guardians of the Gate should set up shop in perhaps the one area that had once been neither of those things.

He knew the place all too well. It was where he had come two years ago to destroy the Portal to the other world. The ruins it had occupied had looked like the shattered remains of some once-great theatre or public building, ripped apart to its barest structural foundations. He didn't know if it was the invading airships that had gutted the building so thoroughly, but he doubted it. It wasn't consistent with the weapons he'd seen on those things. Either way, the ruins were about as unsafe a place to traverse as they'd find down here. When he and his team had descended here to destroy the permanent Gate, they'd had to use alchemy to repair much of the floor beneath it as they could.

And the Guardians appeared to have taken full advantage of his and Armstrong's hard work. They had taken the time to erect some tents and rows of sandbags around the large space. There appeared to be machine gun nests among the sandbags covering most of the angles of approach. And there, right in the middle of it was a giant transmutation circle, more elaborate and complex than any he had seen before.

He supposed it made sense for the Guardians to be where they were. It was right below where the Portal had been; the weakest point between this world and whatever place the Portal spawned from. But now, he and his team had the unenviable job of getting down there and rounding up the saps who stood watch over it.

"It's gonna be tricky getting in close. They've got a nice open space to see us from, and our approach and fire angles are limited. Focus on getting in close without them seeing you, and stay spread out so they can't box us all in. Hawkeye will cover us if we get in trouble."

"Remind me again why we even need to worry with your flame alchemy on our side, sir?" Brosch asked only half-jokingly.

"Hmph. I might have an ace up my sleeve against these cultist idiots, but I'm not an army, and we just don't know how many more Guardians are waiting around the city."

Mustang reached to his belt and patted the flare gun he had holstered there. "Remember, we only move on the signal. We do this fast and precise, understood?"

Various replies came back from the squad, all affirmative.

Taking out, checking, and re-holstering his pistol, Mustang began moving carefully towards the door, letting the sides of his boots touch the ground first to quieten his steps. "Let's move out."

* * *

Heymans Breda hated blindfolds.

He had decided this as of about ten minutes ago, when these cultist bozos had put one on him for the purpose of his meeting with the Matriarch. He couldn't much recall if he'd worn that many before now, but this instance, right now, he knew in his heart that he hated blindfolds.

He was being led up a depressingly long set of steps, escorted by two other Guardians to make sure that he complied, and that he didn't trip and break his neck on the way up. Even worse was the fact that neither of his escorts were much for conversation. He'd tried striking up some banter to keep his own mood level, but they had only answered that they weren't to speak to him before his audience with the Matriarch.

So instead, he had to content himself counting the stairs they were walking up. Though even then, he'd lost count after the first ten dozen or so.

His frustration at being led blindly to who-knows-what ritual nonsense was mounting. He couldn't help but wonder what good all this was supposed to do.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, he was stopped by his chaperones. He heard the sound of a set of doors opening, and the smell of the stuffy tunnel was replaced with a fresh, watery breeze. He was led forward again, four steps.

"Who is brought before the Matriarch, Guardians?" An oily, servile voice said in front of Breda.

"A disciple worthy of enlightenment, Guardian." Replied one of the men that had guided him through.

"By the Matriarch's decree, let it be so." The first voice oozed back.

Breda was a professional, and he'd kept up with the cryptic talk as part of his infiltration these past several weeks, but it was still a pain to have to listen to it when it came about. At least working with the grunts had involved talking like human beings. This ceremonial crap was beyond asinine.

He was led forward again, and almost immediately there was a splash, and his feet became wet. So they were somewhere with water after all? Now he had a pretty good idea where they were.

After progressing a dozen or so more steps into the room, and feeling the water begin to soak up his trouser legs, his chaperones released him.

"We have brought the chosen disciple as ordered, Master." The oily voice spoke clear, and a slight echo reverberated around Breda, filling his ears with the echo of the voice.

"Excellent." It was the voice of the Matriarch, whom Breda had only heard once or twice, and only when she addressed the Guardians in large groups. "Remove his blindfold."

Breda instinctively closed his eyes as the cloth was removed from his face, and he only opened them slowly, letting his eyes readjust to the sudden brightness.

Still squinting, he could make out the immense cavern he was standing in. The walls were a mixture of rough and uncut material, huge trees and other flora that had half-grown into them, and the remains of ancient archways and reliefs carved from the rock. Mighty pillars sculpted into exotic faces stood in the middle of the cavern. Other, smaller heads had been arranged along the lip of a waterfall the pool they stood in flowed into. Sunlight streamed down into the space from somewhere unknown and lit up the water in dozens of dazzling, flashing ripples. There was an undeniable serenity to the place, even if Breda didn't consider himself a reflective type.

The Matriarch stood before him, wrapped as she always was in all-concealing robes. Even her face was obscured by a deep hood and a cloth wrap. But even without seeing her face or eyes, Breda could tell that she was appraising him. Evaluating him for some unknown future among the Guardians of the Gate.

"I will speak with the chosen acolyte alone. The rest of you will leave and undertake the work we have discussed." She finally said, addressing everyone else in the cavern. Her voice echoed faintly in the massive empty space above them all.

"As you command, Master." The oily-voiced man replied. Breda recognised him as the Matriarch's second, an oddly charismatic little bastard named Francis Abild. He often acted as the Matriarch's second, conveying her edicts to the rest of the Guardians in her stead when she deigned the duty too meagre to undertake herself. Breda got the impression that Abild wasn't happy to have someone new getting close to his master.

Still, the smooth-talking weasel did as he was told, and so did all the other Guardians present, making for the archway exit that led further up to the surface. Breda stifled the urge to raise an eyebrow.

 _Now, just what could they all be doing up top?_

"No matter what happens, the acolyte and I are not to be disturbed, is that clear?" The Matriarch's ultimatum carried across the cavern perfectly, despite the softness of her voice.

All the other Guardians stopped to face the Matriarch, bowed respectfully to her, and then carried on their way.

After another minute, Breda and the Matriarch were alone in the cavern, standing shin deep in cold running water. Once again, Breda felt like he was being examined like a shank of meat at market. He kept his cool, and not so much as a twitch marred his expression.

With a gentle beckon, the Matriarch addressed him. "Come closer, Mister Kincaid."

Slowly, Breda made his way forward, his steps making noise as the water flowed and splashed around his feet.

It had been easy enough with his skills and training to get use to his new pseudonym. 'Sam Kincaid' had been perfectly positioned to be picked up by the Guardians when they did, and he had made himself most useful to the group with his loyalty and his skill. He had been ever so faithful, and he had done all he could to reach a position where he could be involved with how the cult was run.

All Breda had to do then was feed the right information to Mustang, and he could help tear this whole thing down, and get these people either arrested or psychiatric help.

Finally, he stopped about five metres from the Matriarch, still keeping his eyes on her obscured face. She looked up and around the cavern they occupied.

"Tell me, do you know anything about this place?" She didn't look at Breda as she asked him.

Breda paused before he responded. "No, Matriarch, I'm afraid I don't." This was true, even if he had seen this cavern once before. Back when he and the team had closed the Portal to that other world and the Assembly had sent them on that goose chase two years ago, they had scoured the subterranean city for every entrance and exit they could find, and they had come across this cavern while following the tunnels leading through it. It had been the same then as it was now, but he hadn't paid it much mind while he had a job to do.

"I have studied many things over the years. The history of this cavern, the tunnels and the city below are among those things." The Matriarch raised an arm to her side and swept it around, indicating the great space. "This was once a holy site. The people who worshipped here believed in a single God, and in their city, all other religion was hunted down and ended. They could not abide the presence of heretics among their flock."

"They killed them?" Breda asked.

"Sometimes. They also drove them to other places or forced them to convert to belief in their one God. What scripture remains speak of God's love for all people. Ironic then, that the men who worshipped this all-loving God were not themselves all-loving. I reject the notion of leading the Guardians through intolerance for those who do not agree with our beliefs."

 _Well, at least you won't hold it against us when we bring you all down, Lady_. Breda used the feeling of his sly thought to bring a smile to his face, one he hoped would seem like he was approving of her comments.

If she made note of his reaction, she didn't show it as she continued. "How committed are you to the Guardians and our purpose, Mister Kincaid?"

This was the kind of question Breda had been expecting. Test of loyalty and integrity. He knew how to deal with this.

"Completely, Master. I seek, as we all do, to understand to gain the power that lies within the Gate, so that we can protect ourselves from those who would use that power against us. The invaders from two years ago… I want to make sure something like that can't ever happen again." Breda remembered his part in the pitched gun battles throughout central, against those zombie-like armoured soldiers. It had been chilling to fight such strange enemies.

"In a sense, you are correct." The Matriarch said, turning back to him. "But mere understanding is not the core of what we strive for."

Breda allowed his confusion to show on his face. He had spoken about and listened to the purpose the Guardians gave themselves a few times over the last month and a half. What he had heard was only what everyone else had been told. He had hoped to learn more of the truth of the cult from rising in the ranks, and now that seemed to be paying off.

Still, he had to play his part well. He put a hand to his chest and bowed ever-so-slightly. "Forgive my ignorance, Master," he said calmly.

"Don't grovel, Mister Kincaid. I can't stand it. It's unbecoming of you." The matriarch's reply was sharp. "The purpose to which we have all committed is rooted in what this cavern represents."

"What is represents?" Breda asked, a bit more forcefully than before.

"This place was meant as a testament to the glory and immortality of God; a God that few now remember, and none worship. Now it is nothing more than an enthralling old ruin."

The illusive woman began to move, walking around Breda in a slow circle, dividing her attention between him and the carved heads around them.

"All things are subject to the constant flow of time. Things begin, endure and end. Nothing deviates from this pattern. Even civilisations are subject to this process; People create monuments meant to last for eternity, and they always fall to ruin as time flows and civilisations end. But soon, it might no longer be this way. The Guardians serve to bring about a great change on humanity's behalf, according to the will of a greater power than any one of us."

 _Bingo_. That was news to Breda. He had to see if he could pry some more information out of her now.

He shifted his feet in the cold water. "How do you mean, Matriarch?"

The Matriarch stopped and faced Breda again. He could swear that he saw her eyes under the shadows of her hood, their gaze going right through him.

"There is one who seeks to do what is necessary for humankind, Mister Kincaid. An entity that will shake the foundations of the natural order and reshape it in a better design. All of us, even myself, are but servants to ensure that this is the case. And now, of course, you will become a greater part of that."

Breda felt a chill run through his body that had nothing to do with the cold water. "I'm ready for whatever needs to be done."

"I know you are." The Matriarch replied. For a short time, she was silent. She was still looking straight at Breda, her scrutiny making him feel ill at ease.

She walked closer to him, her movements measured. "This ritual is always a private event, Mister Kincaid. Since I was made Matriarch, I have always ensured that only I and my chosen acolyte take part in the process. No-one else may attend. No-one else may intrude. You and I shall not be disturbed."

Breda's well-drilled danger instinct was getting really hard to ignore. He desperately wished that he had some kind of weapon, but the Guardians had been very thorough in patting him down before bringing him here.

By now, she was standing right in front of him. This close to her, Breda could see a hint of colour in the woman's sharp eyes; a deep and mysterious purple tint.

"Not even the military dogs raiding the city below us will get here in time."

Breda's eyes widened, and his fists clenched. Impossible. How could she know about Mustang and the raid? Unless… Did she know the rest of it? Who he was?

He soon got his answer.

"Now, why don't we have a talk about your future, Lieutenant Breda?"

* * *

It had taken them this long to spread out and get around the site, but Mustang had finally seen of his men to their positions before finding his own. It was just like in basic training, really. All that lying flat and moving at a crawl among hillocks and buildings in camp had taken well. It had even come in use in Ishbal, for all that he preferred not to think about anything to do with that slaughter with satisfaction.

He kept hunkered down behind a ledge, peeping over the top to see the Guardians that were camped on their tiny stone mesa. They were still maintaining a standard patrol pattern, and they hadn't noticed his team's movements yet. He could hear muttered conversations between the dozen or so of them that were there, but he couldn't make out the words.

Well, now was as good a time as he was going to get. Carefully, he unholstered his flare gun and readied it. Just as he did so, he thought he heard a faint sound of rock scraping from across the mesa, and he froze for a moment. Did one of his team make that noise?

* * *

Sergeant Brosch silently cursed himself for having to lug around the stupid radio transceiver on his back, and just how clumsy it made him right now. He had tried to compensate for the weight of the thing as he moved, but it was uncomfortable lying down on stairs, to say the least. He'd just wanted to shift his weight, damn it! Why did he have to slip and scrape his boots on the stone?

From above, on the mesa, he heard the two cultists that had been closest to him mutter something questioningly between themselves, and he felt a twitch of fear. He held still and listened closely, as he did, his eyes turned and looked over at Lieutenant Ross next to him, glaring at him with exasperation and concern.

"I'll go check it out. You wait here," he heard from one of the goons. He cursed in his head again, louder and more explicitly.

He gripped his rifle a little tighter, keeping the barrel aimed over the top of the stairs, and hoped that what he had done hadn't messed up the operation.

* * *

Mustang looked over the ridge one last time with his one good eye. Just in time to see a couple of the goons pointing in the rough direction of the sound he'd heard, and one of them going over to check it. From here, Mustang could see the submachine gun the man carried. He knew full well what would happen if that kind of weapon got used up close.

He put a hand on the ledge above him, ready to pull himself up and over, and aimed his flare gun straight up. Taking a breath, he pulled the trigger.

A loud, dull thump came from the pistol, and an angry red ball of light streaked into the stale underground air, hissing gently as it went. It reached the apex of its flight and began it slow descent back to earth.

Before it even got that far, however, there was the distant cracking sound of a rifle being fired.

Mustang looked over the ridge again just in time to see the moving cultist collapse to the ground, crying out in pain. Hawkeye was on point, as usual, and she was just as capable of incapacitating her prey as she was of killing them.

Mustang secured the spent flare gun on his belt and, with a grunt, pulled himself over the ledge. Keeping hunched over as he went, he began running across the mesa.

From two other angles, Falman and Brosch opened fire with their rifles, while Ross and Havoc made use of the covering fire to try and move in closer. Even as the few cultists around the mesa realised what was going on, and several more of them fell either dead or out of the fight, they took cover behind their sandbags and other rock formations.

He kept running, trying to move so he wouldn't be an easy target. In front of him, one of the cultists had taken cover behind a set of sandbags and was aiming at him. He barely dodged the first bullet fired at him before he aimed his hand at his attacker and snapped his fingers.

The alchemic flames danced over the sandbags, singeing them along the way, and engulfed the cultist, who cried out and fell to the ground in pain. Mustang was holding back. He made sure that his flames only burned across the skin and caused enough pain to put these poor fools out of the fight.

Between his alchemy, his squad's speed and accuracy, and the element of surprise they'd maintained. The cultists stood no chance.

And Mustang continued to think that right up to the moment that something fast and made of stone nearly took his head off.

* * *

Breda took a few steps back, raising his hands in a defensive posture. He kept his cool as best he could.

"How long have you known?" He asked angrily.

The Matriarch did not appear fazed by his stance. "Long enough. Like I said, I have studied many things."

Breda considered his tactical options as best he could. The other acolytes had sealed both the main entrances to the cavern, going up and down, to ensure that he and the Matriarch were alone. The doors themselves would likely be locked, but he wasn't certain of that. The Matriarch herself was his most present threat, and if he could subdue her; knock her out or kill her if necessary, then he would have more time to figure out how to escape and link up with his team before they were all caught or killed in an ambush.

There was a thick, electric tension between him and her, and she just kept staring at him, without so much as a twitch in her robes to indicate her intentions.

"What Mustang and his team are looking for here, they won't find. We're already one step ahead of them." The Matriarch's words were confident, but she didn't seem to be gloating, merely stating a fact. "And I need them to stay on our trail for what comes next."

"Whatever you got planned for them, they'll take you down!" Breda shot back. "I know what they're capable of better than you do, Lady."

"I know them well enough, Lieutenant. They'll come after us because they obey their orders, like good little dogs. But having a personal reason to follow us won't hurt either."

The Matriarch moved forward towards Breda, and he acted on his trained instincts. He threw a jab towards her torso, aiming to wind her. She easily dodged the blow, deflecting his outstretched fist with her hands and using his momentum against him. He staggered forward, spinning to recover himself.

He hadn't anticipated how fast and precisely she moved. The woman just stood there, stance ready but relaxed. She was toying with him, he knew. But he had to stand his ground and get past her to find a way out.

"If you think that you can hold me hostage, you should know I'm not gonna come quietly!" He hissed at her. He kept low and ready to fight.

"You say that now. When I'm done with you, you'll come along willingly."

"Like Hell I will!" Breda charged forward as he spoke. He made to barrel into her and knowing she would dodge and use his momentum against him, he feinted right as she moved. "Let's see how good you really are!"

His haymaker only just missed her. Her counter punch did not. Her fist caught him in the gut and winded him. The pain almost overwhelmed him. He staggered back and regained his footing. The Matriarch hounded him, bringing her leg around to kick him. His gut exploding in pain, he barely managed to block her strike and counter.

His jab caught her in the head, and for just a second, she froze. Breda made sure to take advantage. He hit her with a real body slam, trying to bring her to the ground and pin her.

Then he felt her arms grip around his torso hard. She used their combined weight to throw him off balance. She managed to right herself and land on her feet. Breda did not. He landed in the shallow water, disoriented and fighting the reflexive urge to breathe in while his face was submerged.

He felt himself being dragged up. Somehow, the Matriarch was able to lift Breda up bodily, his eyes bugging in shock at her strength, and she threw him across the cavern, up against one of the giant stone heads. Breda's vision flashed white with the impact, and his whole body seized up in terrible pain. Unable to move his muscles, he slid down into the water. Even through gritted teeth, he felt his mouth being flooded. Before he choked, he was pulled up again by the scruff of his shirt, and he was once again eye to eye with the Guardians' leader.

Yes, those eyes of hers were purple, no doubt about it. And very sharp in how they looked at him.

"Stop struggling, you idiot. We've wasted enough time. Even with my men giving their lives below us, they won't keep your friends at bay forever."

Ignoring her, Breda continued to struggle, but his body was still in shock from the force of how he'd been thrown, and his muscles wouldn't obey him. He settled for glaring at the Matriarch hatefully. Her intense stare matched him, but hers was not a hateful look, but a frustrated one.

She reached up towards her face, touching the cloth that obscured most of it. "It's time for you to be enlightened, Lieutenant Breda. When we're done, you mind will be opened to the Truth."

The Matriarch pulled away the cloth and brought her hood down. Breda saw her face for the first time.

And he was enlightened.

* * *

As a new shot of adrenaline coursed painfully through his body, Mustang regained his bearings just in time to dodge another incoming chunk of stone. He should have expected that they would have an alchemist amongst them. Following where the projectiles had come from, he saw a young woman, her face stern from concentration. Like Mustang, she wore a pair of gloves with transmutation circles sewn into them.

Even as Mustang aimed for the woman with his fingers braced to snap, she touched the ground at her feet and the floor of the mesa morphed up into walls. From the side, the staccato firing of Lieutenant Ross' submachine gun tore miniscule chunks in the alchemist' protection, but none of the bullets got through.

Still the stone moved, guided by the young woman's hand. The transmutation circle that the Guardians had created was broken as the stone it was drawn on was used up. The wall between her and Mustang exploded towards him, and he was forced to fling himself prone to avoid being pummelled by all the debris. The high walls around them curved upwards, protecting them both from Hawkeye's keen gaze.

Mustang and his opponent would face each other alone. He could handle this, if he was careful.

"Colonel! Hang on, we'll find a way in!" Lieutenant Ross' shout carried over the walls to him. He scrambled to his feet.

"No! Focus on securing the area, Lieutenant! I can handle this one." Mustang never took his eye off the woman as he gave his orders.

"You won't find what you want here, military dog!" She sounded so young. Mustang felt a pang of regret and anger that someone so young should be used to fight like this.

He stood up and kept his sight locked with hers, his body turned side on to make a smaller target, and to keep his only eye better focused on her. "Stand down, woman! Don't get yourself killed for a stupid cause!" He kept his right arm down, but his fingers were still ready to snap and cast fire. Outside the makeshift walls, the gunfire had stopped, and the sounds of Mustang's team shouting, and cries of pain blended together.

"You know nothing of our cause, and how this world will change. But you will in time." A confident smirk played across the woman's lips. "The Matriarch instructed me to be ready for you people, and to make sure I do my duty."

"Is it your duty to throw your life away for someone who's manipulating you? Someone who's using you for their own gain?" Mustang really wanted to end this without having to have use alchemy in such a confined space. He had to try and get her to stand down. "What exactly did the Matriarch tell you?"

"Only that I should tell you certain things that she deemed you worthy of hearing." The woman's stance became less aggressive, but she kept her distance. "I won't fight you just yet, if you're prepared to listen."

Mustang didn't much care to validate this' alchemist' self-importance at the moment, but if this could be settled with words, all the better. And he might actually learn something useful from her. He relaxed his fingers and took a step forward, approaching in a friendly manner.

"Alright, I'll bite. Why don't we start with you telling me your name?"

"My name isn't important yet."

"I would disagree, Ms. Why don't I tell you mine? I'm Colonel Roy Mustang"

"I know who you are. The Matriarch has prepared us for when you would appear. You are necessary for her plans."

Mustang's eye narrowed. How was he known to these people, and to their leader? How much did the Matriarch know about him?

The horrible feeling began to dawn on him that maybe his appearance with his men had been anticipated. That maybe they had wanted him to be here, like this. He hoped not, but he knew better than to merely hope.

"And what plans are those? What do you want?"

"I can't tell you that, Mustang. But I can say that you'll need to follow in our footsteps. Something is coming, something that will change the universe. You, and others, need to be where you belong in this change; right at the centre."

Well, that was just ominous. Mustang processed what he was being told. The Guardians had designs for him? And for other people besides? This was starting to concern him greatly.

"Me and others? What others?"

"Others whom we are instructed to assemble, according to our leader's demands. You will come to know them all in time. They will be acting as we need them to, going where they must, before you'll be able to stop them."

She was being deliberately vague, and Mustang didn't want to lose too much focus. He needed her to surrender. He could get more information out of her later.

"I don't buy into conspiracy theories. We've put a stop to your plans here. Your men are being captured and your transmutation circle is ruined. All that's gonna happen now is we round you all up down here and put an end to your cult."

The woman sighed, and her shoulders slumped. Mustang bristled inside as she chuckled gently.

"Did you really think that we would be so naïve as to enact our plans right under the heart of Central? That we'd be so brazen to think we could do anything before you and every soldier in the city descended on us?"

 _Don't say it…_ Mustang thought to himself, his jaw tightening behind his mouth. _Whatever you're about to gloat about, lady, just don't say it…_

"Everything that you've been told was a ruse, Colonel. The Matriarch has known about this raid from the moment the message was sent to you. She was the one who let the plan leak to your hidden man among us. Everything that's happening here is doing so because she planned it!"

"… What have you done with my subordinate?" Mustang asked, coldly.

"He's alive, if that's what you're worried about. The Matriarch didn't want him harmed. But he'll have been… enlightened by now. Trust me, Mustang. He'll want to stay with us from now on."

Mustang clenched his fists. He felt his temper come to boil. He'd had enough of this.

Scowling, he threw up his hand and snapped his fingers. The erupting fire flew straight at the woman, who threw up a new stone barrier. With her taking cover, he ran at her, his other hand raised and ready to sweep more flames over his target.

Slabs rushed to meet him as the other alchemist's protection became her means to fight back. Mustang was forced to halt his attack to get out of the way. Whoever she was, she was good at quick fighting alchemy.

"I thought you wanted to avoid fighting, Mustang!" The woman shouted half in surprise, and half in exhilaration.

"Talking's taking too long!" Mustang retorted.

He carefully aimed at a spot behind the woman and let loose a controlled explosion of fire. She successfully dodged the lightning-like streak that flew past her. She did not dodge the flame it created at her flank.

As she was thrown up towards Mustang, yelling out in pain and smoke billowing from her smouldering clothes, he sidestepped and let her fall to the ground at his feet before leaping on top of her, pinning her down. The explosion he had made had rent a hole in the stone barriers hemming them in, and he could hear boots running in to join him.

He struggled to keep her hands from touching the ground again as he tried to get her transmutation gloves off, but she fought him every step of the way, shifting and kicking and causing him no end of grief.

Then Falman appeared at their side, his rifle aimed at the woman's head. She saw the Warrant Officer out of the corner of her eye, and she finally stopped fighting against Mustang, letting him disarm her of her gloves.

"Everything's been contained outside, sir," Falman told Mustang in his usual formal manner. "All threats subdued or eliminated, and we've sustained no casualties. Havoc got grazed by a bullet on the leg, but he'll recover."

"Good work, Falman. Get me some restraints for this one. I need to check on the other teams down here."

"They'll be fine," the woman drawled from under Mustang. "They'll probably only be disappoi-"

Mustang shoved her, winding her on the ground, to shut her up. "Not another word. Not until I hear what's going on from my people."

"Suit yourself." The woman replied. Falman knelt next to Mustang, setting his rifle down and producing a set of handcuffs. Mustang took them and put them on the cultist firmly. His anger made him want to do this roughly, to cause her more pain, but those feelings were slammed down hard. He kept himself in check.

Pulling himself and his prisoner to their feet, he and Falman led the woman outside onto the mesa. There were just over a dozen survivors of his team's attack, most of them bound and kneeling under armed guard by Ross and Brosch. The ones who didn't were the man he had scorched, and another man who had been wounded in the leg and was being tended to by Havoc. Aside from the two of them, groaning in pain, the prisoners were all subdued and quiet.

Mustang let Falman lead the alchemist over to join the rest. He kept the woman's transmutation gloves with him as we headed over to Brosch.

"I need to check with Hawkeye and the other teams."

"Got it, sir," Brosch said, and he held still while Mustang made use of the radio transceiver on his back for the second time that hour.

"Elizabeth, hi again! I hope you liked that little show earlier."

There was a short static crackle before the response came. "Roy, baby! It was quite something! You handled yourself well. You had me worried when you fell behind the curtain like that."

"Well, you know me," Mustang couldn't help but smirk as he spoke. "I can handle a little tumble and come right back up swinging. So, how about you? You see any other interesting sorts while I was back there?"

"Actually not. Seems the show we hoped for isn't going to happen. I must say, I'm disappointed. Though, I've heard we'll hear from you-know-who in a little while with some gossip to share. Sound good to you?"

Mustang's smirk became waxen, and he gritted his teeth in a forced grin. "Looking forward to it, babe. See you soon."

He put the handset back a little more forcefully than intended. Hawkeye had the best view of the underground city out of any of them, and she wasn't seeing anything that indicated fighting was occurring elsewhere. As far as it seemed, the only cultists that were actually there were the ones kneeling or lying down in front of him.

It seemed the woman had been right. He'd been played. Him and his team. And now it was more than likely that Breda had been compromised.

The only thing left that gave Mustang even a desperate sense of hope was the result of the upcoming 'gossip'. But by now, he was not looking forward to the result.

Nevertheless, he stepped away from his team, and looked out at the city before him with one sharp eye.

* * *

Breda walked alongside the Matriarch, matching step with her, as they made their way out of the tunnels, and into the cold autumn night.

Part of him was impressed by how their escape route had been carved to lead away from the exit known to the Military for years. It couldn't have been too easy to make their own pathways down there, especially with him and Colonel Mustang and the rest keeping tabs on it all.

But crucially, he was grateful that it meant they could escape without being hindered. No soldier needed to die getting in the way of their plans now.

After what the Matriarch had shown him, after what she had said to him in that watery cavern, he knew that following her would be for the best now. What she planned to do… For Amestris, for the world, for the Colonel and the team… It all still felt crazy, but it was necessary. She had made him see beyond what he knew, what he thought possible.

And he had a duty to perform at her behest. He needed to make sure that the Chief would stay on the Guardians' trail. That he could stir his commanding officer to come and rescue him.

He supposed that it should make him feel worse than it did to have to manipulate Mustang like he had to, but the Matriarch had helped him with that. She'd said the right words, and shown him the right things, and he felt like he had to do this, for their sake as much as for hers.

Without a word, she led Breda through the darkened streets, until they came upon a truck, simple and nondescript. The rear tarpaulin flap opened for them, and they both climbed in. The vehicle rumbled and set off just as Breda sat down.

As they drove off, the silence was broken by Francis Abild, who had made sure to be sat next to the Matriarch in the back of the truck. "Everyone else has made it out of Central, Master. It seems Valentin and the others left behind have done their job well."

"As they should, Mister Abild. As we all should."

"Of course. And I see that the Military's little spy is still with us." Breda heard the sourness in Abild's voice when he noted this. "Why did you decide to let him live, if I may ask?"

"I thought you wiser than to question me, Mister Abild."

"I don't mean to doubt your judgement, Master!" Abild was quick to simper and backpedal. "I am merely curious as to the part you intend him to play."

"He is required for the lure, so we can draw Mustang and his men after us."

"Very good. And what about the others we must gather?"

The Matriarch looked away from her followers for a moment, staring at the flaps of the tarpaulin cover concealing them all. The occasional bump in the road caused many of them to jolt around, Breda included. The Matriarch, however, seemed to flow with the bumps, and never lost her balance as she sat. Everything about her seemed so controlled and strange to Breda. Those things seemed to only aid her strange. Almost eerie charisma.

Finally, she turned back to Abild, the darkness shadowing her covered face under the hood. Breda felt like he was looking into an abyss when he tried to discern anything under the cloth.

"I attempted to make contact with the Rockbell girl, but she had already left her home. No doubt she will be in Central in a few more days."

Winry Rockbell? How was she involved in all this? Breda wanted to speak up, but The Matriarch required his silence for now, and considering the situation he was in, he was inclined to do as he was told.

"So we let Mustang and his lapdogs take her into their custody, Master?" Abild asked.

"Her grandmother answered the phone when I called. I'm sure I came across as suitably ominous. Between her, and what I've instructed Valentin to tell him, Mustang will know we're interested in her. Considering his options, Mustang will want to keep her close by, with people he can trust. If he doesn't take her with him, we will have people in place to acquire her. Winry Rockbell's part in our plan cannot be ignored."

"And what about the other one? Did you make contact with him, Master?"

The Matriarch paused for a very short moment. Breda only just noticed it. He wondered what caused that reaction in her.

"I did, and I was able to convince him. He will come to us before we make the final journey."

More than that, the Matriarch did not say, and even Abild seemed to sense not to say anything more on the matter. Breda contented himself to stare at his shoes as the truck trundled on. He didn't know where they were all going, but he was coming to understand what the Guardians of the Gate needed to do, for the sake of everything. And he understood his part in all of it now, as the Matriarch needed.

He hoped that he would live up to all expectations.

* * *

He had waited ten minutes before the signal came. Mustang had returned to his team to await contact from Fuery over the radio. When the radio came to life, Mustang practically leapt for the handset.

"Player White to Pawn, what have you got for me, over?"

"Pawn to Player White, all teams have reported in. No hostiles anywhere else in the mission area, sir. The place is deserted. Player Black is converging on your position, over."

"Copy that, Pawn. Have you received a signal from Rook, over?"

"Negative, sir. No new communications received since last transmission, over."

Mustang closed his eye and pursed his lips in disappointment and anger. There were no other Guardians in the city. The company of soldiers Central had assigned him had clearly spent the last ten minutes combing through their districts, and they had found nothing. The Guardians had deceived them all. He had no idea where they were going now, and one of his men was their hostage. Their willing hostage, at that, if what he had been told was to be believed.

But it seemed like there was more that he could be told. And right now, Mustang needed something to go on to finish this assignment, and he couldn't help but feel like he didn't have much time to do that.

"Understood. Will expect Player Black shortly. Continue to moniter communications, out."

"Wilco, Player White, out."

Hanging up on Fuery, he marched over to the kneeling form of the woman he had subdued. She kept her eyes on him as he approached and said nothing.

"Get her up, Lieutenant." Mustang ordered. Ross complied and got the woman to her feet. The two alchemists stood stoically, measuring each other wordlessly, their shared disdain clear.

"Are you ready to listen now, Mustang?" The woman asked condescendingly.

"Are you ready to say something useful?" Mustang retorted.

The woman smiled at him. Mustang did not smile back.

"For what it's worth, my name is Michelle Valentin. And now that my Master is safely away, I can tell you at least one of the others we seek for our cause."

"And who would that be, Ms Valentin?"

"Winry Rockbell." Mustang's eye widened in alarm. Valentin's smile remained the same. "And I've been told that she's on her way to Central right now."

There was no reply from Mustang. He just stared at her, ashen-faced. He didn't notice anything else around him; not even as the commander of their company of reinforcements made his way onto the mesa with his squad and surveyed the scene. Confused and angry, all Mustang could focus on was the wide and sordid conspiracy he had to chase sharpening to a horrible, bitter point.

* * *

 _Author's Notes_

 _My first attempt at writing some actual combat for this story, however brief it is. I confess that getting a dynamic narrative for writing a fight of any kind is something I wish to improve on, but I think I did okay here. And, of course, I want the Guardians of the Gate, and the Matriarch, to appear a legitimate mystery to be solved by Mustang. There will be more opportunities to investigate them, and show more dimensions of their group and individuals, to come.  
_

 _This chapter took a little longer than even I expected. Between new and engrossing video games, and getting a new full-time job, I've not had the drive or time to focus on this story. Hopefully, I will adapt and pick up the pace for the future. Also, it's worth noting that, even though I want to commit to keeping the overall story intact as I update it, there will be edits and updates made to bits of it as I continue, so if you think that something written later doesn't match up with what you remember, you might find that it's becuase of edits made.  
_

 _I want to offer my thanks to 'Blergblerg the one and only' for posting the first review of this story. I appreciate your taking the time to comment, and I'm pleased that you like my style._

 _Trivia time:_

 _You probably already recognise it, if you're a keen fan of Fullmetal Alchemist, but the style of talk between Hawkeye and Mustang over comms, and Hawkeye's pseudonym, are almost identical to that used in the manga and Brotherhood for a particular story arc. I considered using slightly different circunstances and names, but I felt a direct reference would resonate more strongly with a reader._

 _The chess-based callsigns are also a nod to Mustang's chess-playing, and to how he refers to his team as various chess pieces. Mustang being Player White is due to him being the commanding officer during the raid, and thus the one meant to initiate the plan._

 _Sadly, that's about it for trivia. I'm better with referencing trivia rooted in the real world than in FMA, but if I remember something about this chapter that is also worth mentioning here, edits will be made._

 _Until next time, then._


	5. Confessions for the Dead

**4 – Confessions for the Dead**

The many sounds of the train as it travelled along its path, the gentle whooshing of the steam engine and the clunking of the wheels on the tracks, blended into the background for Alphonse as he stared out of the window next to him.

They had been on this train for a day and a half now, travelling with Ulrich Eusebie and a cadre of his Free Corps soldiers across Germany. He and Edward had been given a double passenger compartment towards the front of the barracks' car. Noah had a double compartment to herself next door, so she wouldn't have to put up with any men invading her privacy.

The German countryside appearing and passing before his eyes filled Alphonse with a contented and quiet feeling. Travelling by train seemed to have that effect on him, he had observed. Over all the years he had been on train journeys, especially in the days when he could neither eat nor sleep as they went, he had needed to fill the time with either talk or contemplating the view. By now, he had grown to enjoy the nostalgia and peace it brought with it.

A part of the tracks they passed over caused the carriage to jolt, and in front of him, Edward cursed under his breath as some of the papers he was holding slipped to the floor of the compartment.

Quickly, Alphonse stooped down in his seat to help gather up the documents with his brother. Ed smiled appreciatively. "Thanks, Al. Wasn't expecting that bump."

"No problem, Brother." Al replied, smiling back. He watched as Ed realigned the papers together and went back to reading the words on them. He was studying the files Eusebie and Stresemann had left with them and taking in as much information as he could now so he could spend more time enjoying the trip afterwards.

One last square of glossy paper lay on the floor, and Alphonse picked it up to find that it was the photograph of Winslow Hart they'd been shown yesterday afternoon. Alphonse looked at the face of the striking young man in the image, his eyes obscured behind his sunglasses, and felt a tiny, tingling feeling of recollection. But he was sure that he's never seen the man before.

"You learn anything helpful about Winslow Hart?" he asked Ed.

Edward glanced up with a tired smile. "Some things, I think. But nothing that might indicate his motives." He patted the papers with the back of his automail hand.

"Well, is there anything that's useful to us if we confront him?" Alphonse pressed.

"He's supposed to be just a few years older than me, and he's already run two successful businesses internationally, without any obvious help. So, it's likely he's intelligent and good at business. The photo you've got was taken shortly before he vanished, but two years is enough to change how he looks, if he has. But it's his hobbies that have me interested."

"Hobbies?"

"You have some pretty innocent things like going to operas, playing piano, mountain hiking, stuff like that. But before he vanished, he was also known for fencing, game hunting and sport shooting regularly. And he was apparently very good at each."

"So you think he might actually be a good fighter, if we face him?" Al asked with a frown.

"I think it's possible. But using weapons for sport and using them for battle aren't the same. We might have some trouble with him, but he won't be expecting us to fight like we can." Ed had a little smirk to go with his last comment.

"Okay, so moving on, how much money is he supposed to have?"

"No idea. You can't just get records of how much money people have under normal conditions, and these conditions aren't exactly normal."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone managed to make a lot of important information about the man vanish along with him. I think he found a way to purge as many records on himself as he could find before he went on the run. All the stuff I've told you comes from copies of records missed and newspaper articles."

"How would he be able to do something like that?"

"Don't know about that, either. But I suspect he had the money to make it happen." Ed's tone of voice was reproachful.

Al sighed and shrugged. "And we have no idea why he would want to vanish?"

"We have a lot of ideas, Al, and no solid leads on which ones might be accurate. He's a rich recluse who makes guns, shoots guns, might have access to the designs for Alfons' airships, and wants the uranium bomb."

"You don't think…" Alphonse began, a creeping dread stirring in his chest. "Maybe he's trying something similar to the Thule Society again, do you?"

"It seems a pretty obvious plan. He's offering to re-arm and re-supply them with everything they need to make it happen all over again. All the people who suffered and died for what they did, here and in our world, and he's giving them everything they need to commit the same atrocities a second time."

"But then why would he want to take the bomb from them as payment? If he just wanted them to invade Amestris again, why not leave it with them?"

"I couldn't say. It's the one thing that doesn't add up, assuming what I think is close to the truth."

Alphonse let his head fall back as he pondered the problem with his brother. All the conjecture as to what this man's motives might be were frustrating. Knowing why anyone would want to get hold of a weapon as horrible as the uranium bomb might help them talk that person down. For all that he knew fighting and killing were the most likely outcome of all this, he still hoped that there might be another solution. But they just didn't have anything that would help reach that point.

And it dawned on Al that he couldn't even say that it was worth the stress. What really mattered was getting to the bomb first. They would have to keep it from Hart's hands, however they could. They could solve the mystery of Winslow Hart if they ever got the chance to speak with him. But even if they didn't, even if he personally abhorred the possibility of killing to do so, Alphonse would make sure that Hart never got to use the uranium bomb, for everyone's sake.

Still, losing themselves in the questions and study was passing the time. Alphonse handed the photograph back to Ed and resumed looking out of the window. The clouds were starting to build up the further they went south. They hoped to reach Munich before the next dawn, and from there travel east towards the Pension Moritz in the mountains.

It would be a lot of time to spend on the train, and they had to fill it however they could. But this studying was serving to frustrate them both as much as make the hours pass. When Ed actually put the set of records down at his side and put his head in his hands, Al felt he had to do something

And that was when he remembered their talk from two days ago. It was a bit sad to think about, but it had done him good to air his feelings and memories about home a bit. Maybe Ed could benefit from doing the same about this world now.

"You know, you never did tell me about that thing from a couple of days ago, Ed."

"Hmm? What thing was that?" Ed looked up, his bangs a little frazzled as he was lost in his thoughts.

"You were going to tell me about a happy memory of your time here, before I joined you. How about we pick that up now? Maybe it'll help you relax and focus better to think about something else for a while."

Edward's eyes lit up with recognition, and he relaxed back in his seat. "Right. I did say I would tell you later." He nodded and looked out of the window as well. It seemed to help him find the right memory again.

"I was going to tell you one about me and Dad."

That stopped Alphonse's train of thought dead. He almost gawped.

"I never really talked about him much, did I, Al?" Ed went on. He sounded so… guilty when he asked that, Al thought.

"No, not really. I thought that maybe you didn't want to remember him. You never liked him much."

"For a long time, I really didn't, you know that. But at first, when I got stuck here, he was the only person I knew, the only one I could confide in. I hated it at first, but I had to get used to it. And damn him, the old man did try to be more like a father for a while."

Alphonse listened to his brother carefully. He didn't want to interrupt this.

"I went to Transylvania after a while, to study rockets with Dr Hermann Oberth. You remember me telling you about him, right? Anyway, while I was out there, I didn't have much contact with Dad, and after a while he vanished again. Maybe the Thule Society already had him when he did. I don't know for certain. But just once, while I was out there, he came to visit me."

Edward never took his eyes away from the window, like he couldn't bring himself to look his brother in the eye as he recalled his story.

"He wanted to take me out hiking in the Carpathian Mountains for a few days. I didn't want to stop researching rockets. I wanted to use it to find a way home, somehow. But Doctor Oberth insisted that I go with him. I think he saw how me and Dad were, and he wanted to help.

"So, for a couple of days, we went out on a long trek together through the mountain trails. The first day out, we made it all the way up to this high hill and had a beautiful view of forests, mountains and fields, stretching out as far as we could see. We had lunch together up there, taking in the view. The old man brought a basket full of food with him. Even had a bottle of some Romanian brandy for both of us. Hell, that stuff was strong."

For as long as Al had known his brother, Ed had never been much of a drinker. Certainly not in Amestris all those years. He had been too focused on his work, his goals, his brother, to develop any taste for alcohol. In the two years he'd been here, Al had only seen Ed indulge a couple of times, and never to excess. It gave the younger Elric pause for thought at how these little things about his brother changed without him really paying attention to it.

"He told me that the brandy was a Romanian tradition. That they always had it before meals, and especially for family reunions." Ed smiled, but his eyes looked sad. "He told me he wished that Mom and you could be there to join us, so it could be a proper reunion. He got all quiet for a while after that. I figured he deserved to hear about us and Mom, so I talked about all the time he missed out on. I think he was happy to hear about that stuff, that I was willing to tell him. It made me feel better to get it all out too, you know?"

"I do." Al said, taking his cue to respond. "I'm happy you got to make things up with Dad in the end."

"Yeah. It meant a lot to him, and to me." Ed said, looking at Alphonse now. "After a few days out in the mountains, we headed back to where I stayed with Oberth and Alfons. That was where Dad gave me those gas-powered automail limbs you've seen. He'd left the crate with Oberth all that time until we got back. He wanted to make sure I could look after myself without him. Bastard even said he'd made spares because he knew I'd break 'em all soon enough."

Al couldn't help but chuckle at Ed's expense. "I mean, he wasn't wrong, was he?"

"Heh. No, he wasn't. But… The way he gave them to me, I think he knew that we wouldn't meet like that again. Maybe he knew that the Society was coming for him, and he wanted to make sure he did one good thing with me before he lost the chance. The only time I saw him after that was when he died."

Al felt a great sadness well up. He could tell that Ed felt something similar, considering the gravity of his own statement.

"Will you ever tell me how he died, Brother?" Al eventually asked quietly. "Was it that bad that I can't know?"

"It was… complicated, Al." Ed turned his head back to his brother and grimaced as he tried to find the right words, the right decision to what Al wanted from him.

But Al was resolute. "I'm going to have to hear about it someday, Ed. And I've been through enough to know how bad things can get."

"I know, Al. I'm not trying to wrap you in cotton, but this is Dad we're talking about." Ed pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Alright. You deserved to know at some point. Might as well be now."

Ed paused. For a moment, Al wondered if he had reconsidered, but it soon became clear that he was collecting his thoughts again.

"It was a violent end. I told you how Envy came to this world looking for our father… For _his_ father… so he could kill him. I told you the Society captured him and used him to fuel their attempts to reach our world."

"That's right. He turned into a massive dragon, you fought him in a castle, and they took him after that."

"Envy wasn't the only one they used to open the Gate. They kept him docile by putting Dad in his jaws, Al."

The implications of what was coming next made Al want to retch, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Ed to stop. He had wanted to hear this, and he was going to live with his choice.

"In the end, he goaded that monster into biting through him. He… there was nothing left of him but a cloud of blood. I couldn't believe how fast it happened, I couldn't process it. It doesn't make it much better, but he chose to go for himself like that. He took that from Envy and the Society, at least."

"You told me that he passed on his regards before he died. So that was right before he…" Al looked and felt catatonic. He struggled to process the horrible new information he had asked for. He paused long enough for Ed to react to it.

"Al? Hey, if you need a moment…"

"Well, at least he was thinking of me, right?" Al felt like he should smile and look brave for Ed, but for some reason his face and his body wouldn't obey him. It was humiliation on top of his grief. The deepest regret amidst the chaos of his feelings bubbled up through his throat and came out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"I… I just wish…" Al closed his eyes, screwing them shut as he felt his sadness swell up. "I just wish I could have seen him one more time, like this." He gestured to his body half-heartedly. "I wish he could have seen me in my own body, just once."

"I know, Al. I'm sorry I couldn't stop it. There wasn't anything I could do in time."

It took a while for Al to process his thoughts and feelings before he felt he could respond. He took a deep breath, focused on what was important to him in the moment, and opened his eyes to look at Ed. Now he had the strength to put on a brave face. Ed was meeting his gaze, looking a little worried.

"Don't blame yourself for what you can't change, Brother. I don't. And he wouldn't want you too, either."

Hearing him say that made the tension on Ed's face melt away like butter. Alphonse watched him breathe out and nod quietly.

"You're right. I may regret what he chose to do, but I guess the old man deserves me respecting his choice."

Alphonse nodded, and then chuckled as the irony of the moment struck him. "We're really bad at recounting happy memories, aren't we, Brother?"

"Hah! I suppose we are. We're just so used to having sad things happen to us, I guess."

Alphonse kind of felt like he should say something to that, but no words came readily to mind, so he contented himself to nod and give a contented hum. For a time, they sat in silence. Al had the time to let his bittersweet feelings settle.

Eventually, Ed leaned to look out of the window at where they were going. He surveyed a landscape that Alphonse couldn't yet see and seemed to come to a decision. Settling back in his seat, he said, "We're making good time to the Alps. Next place we stop the train for supplies, we're all gonna spar with each other."

Alphonse inclined his head. "I'd like that, but will Mr Eusebie give us enough time to?"

"He will if he wants us to stay with him for this mission. With the time we're making so far, half an hour won't hurt. And we need to keep in practice for what we're gonna expect up there, especially Noah."

Early in their travels, the two brothers had begun teaching Noah some of the fighting techniques they had learned from Teacher. Al had suggested, and Ed had easily agreed, that it wasn't fair to have Noah join them in what they did, getting into danger, without having some extra means to look after herself. She had taken to the training well, even if it meant earning some scrapes, cuts and bruises. And she had also had to find a way to hold back her natural clairvoyance as she did so, as she didn't want to constantly be distracted by the memories and feelings of the people she was hitting.

The result was that, by now, she could spar alongside them to keep her skills honed. She wasn't quite as full-on or acrobatic as they were when sparring, but she was quick, practical and economic with her movements, and it had proven useful a couple of times in the past already.

Al, thinking more on what to expect from Ed, set his jaw. "Okay. But no teaming up with her just to try and keep up your little winning streak."

"Hey! As if I would!" Ed said, pretending to be scandalised.

Al Scoffed. "You may have beaten me a few more times recently, Brother, but don't think I'm going to let that continue."

"I'll stop you underestimating me one battle at a time, Al. Just you watch." Ed retorted cockily.

It _had_ been a little while since they had a chance to practice their fighting skills, Al reasoned. It had taken less time than he had expected to get used to it when they'd started it two years ago, considering how long they'd sparred when he was a soul-bonded suit of armour. But yes, they needed to keep themselves sharp.

Teacher would not have approved of their laxity, were she still alive. It was best they keep her unquiet soul from coming back just to kick their butts by making up for lost time.

Ed had definitely been matching Al's skill more and more these days, that was true. But it just meant he had to fight more passionately, more carefully, and quicker than his brother. And, like always, it cleared the head for when thought needed to be put into things beyond the fight.

Alphonse enjoyed the anticipation, but he couldn't help but think back on the image of his father's sad, contented smile, and all the things he had wanted to share with the man that he never could.

Some exercise would help get those thoughts sorted out too.

* * *

Almost a day and a half after the raid on the underground city had taken place, and now Mustang found himself feeling more exhausted than he had staying up all night then.

He was currently stuck in a debriefing with the representatives of both the Assembly and the Military regarding the outcome. They were as pleased with the revelation that he had been played for a fool by the Guardians of the Gate as he had.

It was General Hakuro that seemed the most displeased, though, and Mustang was impressed with how he had managed to pull that off. Hakuro was the Military representative, and so Mustang should technically have been under his command. But the Assembly was the new power in Amestris now, and for all the Military's years with absolute power over the State, the new civilian body had undermined them thoroughly. Hakuro had always held ambitions to rise to be Führer one day, and now that office didn't exist anymore. The man had always taken that personally.

So, while Mustang was partly under the disgruntled Hakuro's oversight, he was also acting on the orders of the Assembly's civil representative; one Claude Brunswick. And Mr Brunswick was, by Mustang's understanding, a consummate lawyer. He knew all the right words, and all the right ways to say them, and he made sure the i's were dotted and the t's were crossed. But he had been the one most supportive of Mustang's operations and choices. For his part, Mustang suspected that was more due to Brunswick keeping him buttered up. And maybe to piss off Hakuro.

While neither man was happy that he had not foreseen this situation occurring, they didn't appear to be planning on relieving Mustang of his command just yet. They'd built up his reputation among the public too well to tear him down with so little warning. And they didn't want more information of a dangerous cult leaking to the press.

The office space they were in seemed oppressive, despite being large enough to fit a platoon of men inside it. The light of the midday sun poured through the windows and glared off every reflective surface. The mid-autumn chill was kept at bay with internal heating that was still too stuffy to be comfortable, especially in uniform.

Sat across the desk in front of him, Brunswick brushed the fringe of his hair from his brow and looked at Mustang neutrally. "Have your team made any progress interrogating the prisoners? What about the woman you mentioned here; Valentin. Has she said anything helpful?"

"Sadly not, Mr Brunswick. She's proven resistant to most techniques used to coax more information out of her. She keeps repeating that she will have more to say to me, specifically, when the time is right. Rest assured that I'm not content to wait for her to decide when she'll talk. Nonetheless, I think we need to gain new information from elsewhere."

"Your communications team did well in keeping the rest of Central's forces aware of events as they unfolded, Colonel." Hakuro said, flatly. "Thanks to Sergeant Fuery and Corporal Sheska, we were able to corroborate reports from other units to give us an idea of where the Guardians that escaped went after they escaped your notice."

"I'm pleased the Sergeant and Corporal have given us something to work with, sir." Mustang kept his good eye forward and his tone neutral. The remains of his bad eye itched under his eyepatch.

It had gone this way every time for the last few years, really. Whenever he had to stomach the presence of the bureaucrats and generals in groups, he did so with all the passion and enthusiasm of a machine.

"From what we can tell, Colonel, a truck was sighted leaving the vicinity of the abandoned church where the most well-known entrance to the underground city was located." Hakuro's tone of voice always made it seem to Mustang like the man wanted to grind his teeth. "Despite your efforts to seal it off, it appears from inspections made that another entrance was created close by and linked to the original tunnels. The soldiers stationed at the church were not aware of their movements until too late."

Mustang held his tongue, but inside his head, he was grumbling.

"The truck our troops sighted was identified quickly enough that we could track where it was heading when it left Central," Hakuro went on. "It was last seen by soldiers posted in the east of the city."

"Have we contacted any garrisons between here and Eastern Command to continue tracking it?" Mustang asked.

"We have, but it has been difficult…" began Brunswick.

"There are thousands of trucks in Amestris," Hakuro butted in. "And most of them look the same. The initial reports didn't give us much to work with. What details are confirmed have been passed on, but it is likely that the Guardians will know to change their mode of transport. If they are clever enough to outwit you, Colonel Mustang, they will have plenty of tricks up their sleeves yet."

"Make sure you prepare accordingly when you go after them." Brunswick said with a thin little smirk.

Well, that cemented it, then. For now, he was still handling this case. From the understanding smile on Brunswick's face, and the scowl on Hakuro's, the Assembly's representative was the keener to ensure Mustang be allowed to continue.

"I will make sure to pursue these people with every trick up _my_ sleeves, sirs."

"See that you do, Mustang, or we'll have to consider finding someone more capable after all." Hakuro's barbed comment caused a twitch in Brunswick that Mustang noticed, and he got the distinct feeling that the man was trying to avoid rolling his eyes.

"Come now, General Hakuro, the Colonel has done all that we have asked of him, despite this setback. I doubt he will underestimate the Guardians again. Not while they have one of his team as a hostage."

The thought of Breda brought a question out of Mustang. "What are my orders regarding Lieutenant Breda's situation?"

"The way I see it, you've allowed a valuable Military asset to be compromised. If the Guardians get Breda to crack, then all the information he has on you, your team, and our Military is theirs to pick and choose from. This cannot be allowed to happen. Find and recover him if you can, but if he's compromised when you find him, you are to terminate him."

Mustang clenched his fist under the desk. Of course Hakuro would suggest that. It didn't matter much why he wanted the Colonel to take such severe action, only that he clearly expected his will on the matter to be done.

Mustang would do everything in his power to make sure it didn't come to that. He was going to get his Lieutenant back, Guardians be damned.

"And what about Winry Rockbell?"

"She will need to be made aware of the potential danger to her," Brunswick said, "but use discretion with what you reveal to her about the Guardians. If you can, convince her to enter Military custody for her own safety. Perhaps it would be ideal to keep her with your team, if you think you can trust her and them to keep her protection from the Guardians in mind."

"Mr Brunswick, is it wise to let Colonel Mustang keep someone so familiar to him that close by?" Hakuro sounded incredulous at Brunswick's suggestion. "I worry her presence will affect his judgments, considering her relations to him through the Fullmetal Alchemist, and the Colonel's part in her parents' death."

 _Thank you for bringing up_ that _sore point, jackass_ , Mustang thought as loudly as he dared.

"I think their familiarity will be to the Colonel's benefit," Brunswick said, dismissively. "And if there is any concern of her cooperation in light of past events, I'm sure he will find a way to smooth it over. He does have a knack for being charming when he needs to, General."

Not allowing Hakuro any time to maintain the argument, Brunswick pushed a manila folder across the table they all sat around towards Mustang. "The notes and reports discussed today, and other useful information for this case, are compiled in there, Colonel. I have every confidence that you will give your all to see this through."

"I'll see this mission through, sirs. I'll make sure the Guardians and their schemes come to an end, by any means."

"Excellent," Brunswick said with an oddly genuine smile. Mustang didn't feel it fit his face. "Well, General Hakuro, I think we've covered everything we need to here. I suggest we leave the good Colonel to continue his assignment."

"As you wish, Mr Brunswick." Hakuro said. "Colonel, you're dismissed. Send Major Sterling in on the way out, would you?" The two men rose out of their chairs, and Mustang took his cue to follow suit. He saluted, turned smartly on his heel and walked out of the office's double doors.

Sitting in a chair in the corridor outside was Major Theo Sterling, the officer in charge of the company of men that had aided him on the raid. Sterling wasn't much to look at, as far as Mustang was concerned. But from what little time he'd spent with the man, he'd proven a good and competent officer, and he cared about doing his job properly. And for all that he didn't talk much, when he did, Mustang had valued what he brought to a conversation.

Sterling stood up and saluted, then stood at ease when Mustang returned the gesture. "Good to see you, sir. Did they say if they were ready for me?"

"They're ready, Major. They asked me to send you in."

"I must say, it's good to know I might still be working with you on this assignment."

Mustang raised his eyebrow, slowly smirking. "Were you listening in on a private debriefing, Sterling?"

The Major's smiling face was a picture of false innocence. "I may have listened at the door for some of it, sir."

He couldn't help himself. Mustang chuckled. "Well, I'm glad you like to keep informed. But you'd best not keep them waiting in there."

"Right. You take care, sir. I know you'll get this done."

Mustang gave Sterling an appreciative nod as the Major passed him by, going into the stuffy office and closing the door in the way.

As soon as he was alone in the corridor, he took a moment to lean his back against the wall and collect his thoughts. He let his shoulders relax, and he reached beneath his eyepatch to try and rub the itch underneath out of existence. He felt like he had just weathered a storm in there, but he had made it through able to do his job.

He had to start coordinating reports from the Eastern garrisons, and interrogation had to continue for the prisoners from the raid. Michelle Valentin had made herself look like the choice candidate, and that alone meant Mustang wanted to check all the other cultists they'd captured before putting all his eggs in one basket.

He had to stop these madmen. He had to rescue Breda. He couldn't leave his friend in danger like that.

"Just hang on, Breda." He muttered under his breath. "Don't let them break you. I'll come and get you out of their hands, I promise."

He sounds of clacking footsteps on the stone floor drew his attention. Sheska was approaching him quickly, her face expressing worry, which it usually did, and relief, which it usually didn't.

"Colonel Mustang, sir!" Sheska stood to attention and saluted. "How was your debriefing?"

Mustang took the opportunity to stand up straight. "At ease, Corporal. I'm still in charge of you and the team, so that's something. What do you have for me?"

Sheska pulled her usual trick of standing at ease without appearing even remotely at ease. "It's about… Winry, sir."

Mustang paused, his face hardening, and then nodded. "What about her?"

"Her train arrived in Central an hour ago. She called from Ms Hughes' home to ask about meeting up at the graveyard to… Pay our respects, like usual."

Just like that, all the frustration and sarcasm pent up inside Mustang fell away. He should have realised that Winry would be coming here for that. She had been doing the same around this time two years ago. She was good like that, visiting friends still living and passed on. She had come to pay her respects to Maes.

Mustang nodded thoughtfully. "I see. It's good that you both do that, you know."

Sheska looked bashful. "Sir, I… Well, if you wanted, sir… Not that I would want to assume that you wouldn't, but… I could tell Winry about… About the cultists' interest in her."

"Thanks for the offer," Mustang assured her. "But this is one I want to handle personally. Besides my responsibility to the mission, I've got something personal to sort out with her."

"Personal, sir?" When Sheska's question went unanswered for a moment, Mustang's implication seemed to click with her anyway. "… Oh."

"I'd like you to stay with her until you both get to Hughes' grave. If you want to stay while we talk, that's fine."

"If it's all the same, sir… it wouldn't feel right listening in to a private conversation."

"I understand."

Sheska nodded and steeled her gaze. "Don't worry. I'll make sure you two aren't disturbed."

"I appreciate that, Sheska. Let's get ready to meet her, then." Mustang started walking down the corridor in the direction of his office, and Sheska fell in step beside him. As they walked, Mustang began preparing his words and his thoughts for what he had to do next. It was selfish and self-indulgent, really, but he told himself that what he was about to do and say needed to be dealt with.

He refused to admit it was because he feared, in a tiny and paranoid way, he might not get another chance to.

* * *

Walking through the massive graveyard, Winry felt a little lost inside her own head. She kept a gentle grip on the flowers in her hands, and kept her eyes low, as much out of respect to the dead as a feeling of imposing in their space.

At least the sky was clear, and the sun on her skin made her feel a little less sad. She glanced up. Not long to Hughes grave now. Sheska walked next to her, holding her own bouquet, still in military uniform and looking a little queasy. She was clasping her hands behind her back and keeping her gaze ahead, looking like she was expecting something to leap out and attack them both.

Over the four years that Winry had known her, Sheska had never been very good at hiding her emotions, particularly when she was nervous or trying to hide something. Right now, it was perfectly clear that her friend was keeping something quiet.

"Alright, what are you trying not to say?" Winry said teasingly.

"Me, what, not say what? I'm not trying to say something. Uh, I mean I'm trying not to not… ah!" Sheska was completely flustered as she failed to play off the accusation. Winry reached over and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, breathe. It's alright, you know? If there's something bothering you, then you can tell me."

Sheska slowed down and took a deep breath. It seemed to help calm her. Putting one of her hands on her chest, she let herself relax.

"It's better if we get to the grave, and you'll understand." She replied quietly.

Winry was intrigued, but she didn't say any more. They both continued towards the hill. It didn't take long for her to realise that someone was already up there, standing where she knew Maes Hughes' grave was.

As they approached, and she finally realised who it was standing there, she stopped walking, and she held her flowers a little closer to her body.

Dressed in his full uniform and eyepatch, and a long black coat besides, was Roy Mustang. He had his hands in his pockets and was looking down at Maes Hughes' grave with a bittersweet smile. His mouth was moving, and Winry could just make out the sound of him talking under his breath, but she couldn't make out what he was saying.

Seeing her pause, Sheska turned back to her, and Winry noticed how determined she looked. "He insisted on speaking with you. I'm sorry, but I think you'll want to listen to him. Please, Winry?"

Winry looked between her friend and the distant form of Mustang. The man had noticed the pair of them approaching and was looking at her now. From this distance, she couldn't help but think he looked quite sad.

Her compassion overcame her apprehension, and she nodded at Sheska with a smile. "Don't worry. I can talk with him."

"Oh, that's a relief. Thank you." Sheska said and beamed.

Winry let her head fall back, exasperated. "How did you think I was going to react?"

And just like that, Sheska's eyes were wide in embarrasment again. "Uh, well, um..."

"You have such little faith in me, Sheska. It's fine." Winry added, this time teasing. Once again, her friend deflated, relieved.

She started walking again, making her way towards Mustang. Before she got anywhere, Sheska held out her own flowers for Winry to take, and it became clear that she was staying behind and letting her friend go alone. Winry didn't react for just a moment, but in the end, she decided that she would probably be okay with this. And Sheska would be nearby if she needed her. She took the other flowers and carried both with her to the grave.

Soon enough, she was up on the hill, right next to Mustang. The man didn't say anything at first. He was looking back down at his friend's final resting place. Winry saw that he had laid flowers of his own at the grave already.

She felt a sense of déjà vu as she recognised the flowers. Two years ago, right before the invasion from the other world, she and Sheska had come here and found a bouquet already laid there. The flowers Mustang had laid out today were the same as those had been.

 _We never found out who put those flowers there…_ Winry's revelation sent a tingle through her body. _Was Mustang the one, then?_

Even though she suspected, she didn't voice anything. Instead, she knelt down and respectfully placed hers and Sheska's bouquets next to Mustang's. She bowed her head before Hughes' gravestone and closed her eyes in remembrance. There was no sound but the soft breeze to disturb her reflection.

When she felt it was appropriate, she stood up again and turned to face Mustang, looking him in his good eye and nodding.

"It's good to see you again, Roy. You didn't have to go this far to talk to me, you know."

"I'm sorry, but I felt I had to, considering what I need to tell you." Mustang kept his hands in his coat pockets and was trying to be casual.

"What you need to tell me?" Winry rubbed her hands against the late October chill. She had a good idea about at least part of what Mustang was here for, but she wanted him to be the one to say it.

Mustang turned his gaze down to Hughes grave again, then back to her. "Something big has come up, and I've got this feeling like I should get some old baggage out of the way before I deal with it."

"And that big something involves me, I assume?"

"It does. But I want to sort out the baggage first. Besides, it's high past time I did this properly, and…" Mustang faltered. "I know that Maes would want me to man up and get this done."

Winry couldn't help but look at the gravestone too. Like most of the rest in the graveyard, it was well-maintained, but she suspected that Mustang or someone made sure it was given special attention. Hughes' name felt like it stood out more clearly than some of the other engravings she'd seen walking through the graveyard. The weight of his memory was more than enough to give Mustang's cryptic talk a pass for the time being.

Finally, she addressed Mustang again. "Alright then. I can imagine what you want to say, but I'm listening."

With her approval confirmed, Mustang straightened his back a little and looked off into the distance. He was silent for just a moment as he collected his thoughts.

"It feels like it's been so long since Ishbal happened," He finally began. "It feels almost as long since what I… since you learned what I did to your parents."

Winry had been right. She had known this would come up. The old sadness and anger still came back to her, though. Time had dulled the pain some, but it hadn't gone away. She had done her best to come to terms with that.

"There's hardly been a day I haven't regretted killing so many of the people I did. Your parents especially. You've heard all the excuses and the rationales, and it's old by now. I'm not going to waste your time with what you already know. But I want to say, right here and now, that I'm sorry for what I've taken from you. I'm sorry that I had to be the one to prove just how rotten the Military can be. I want to make amends for it, but I know there's nothing that can."

Winry just listened. She didn't move, and she didn't interrupt. She let his words, and his intent, play out in her thoughts to be made sense of. Her emotions may have coloured her reasoning in part, but she kept herself in check, and remained patient with what she was being told.

"I don't expect you to forgive me for what I've done. Hell, I don't expect you to like me much. But for both our sakes, I hope you understand my trying to be sincere about all this."

"I… I do." Winry said. Her voice was a little watery when she spoke. "I'm not sure what to say."

"I don't blame you." Mustang replied with a sad smile. "I'm not sure I would either."

"I… I can't pretend that you weren't the one who killed my parents. I can't ignore what you did to them, and what you did to me and to Grandma by taking them from us." Winry said, the beginnings of her full response building up inside her. She felt something wanting to get out and be said. She found that she didn't need to struggle to be calm. It came as naturally as breathing.

Mustang nodded and closed his eye. "I understand."

"No, I don't think you do." Winry said quickly. Mustang opened his eye again and stared at her, curious.

"Look, Roy, I've had four years to think about what happened, and what you did. A lot of time to think about forgiveness."

"And what conclusion did you come to, might I ask?" Mustang seemed genuinely curious.

"I'm never going to just forget or move on from what was done. But as angry as I was for a long time, I don't want to keep that anger anymore."

"Anger can change us in dark ways." Mustang's acknowledgement sounded bitter. "I've seen that too."

"I know." Winry looked away for a moment, gazing over the graveyard. She breathed deeply and cleared her head as best she could with the fresh air. "There's one thing I came to realise as I tried to make sense of it all."

"And that was?" Mustang continued to probe.

She turned back to look at him, her face set and serious. "That while you did terrible things, Roy Mustang, and while you've been a smug, manipulating, womanising scoundrel, you can't disguise the fact that, despite all those things, you try your hardest to be a good man."

Mustang said nothing. It seemed that she had given him pause for thought with what she said.

"And whether you think it or not, you are a good man." Winry continued. Her voice was powerful and clear now. "Especially with everything that's happened to you, all the things you've fought for and lost, and the people who still work with you, fight with you, want you in their lives. Look at Riza. Look at Sheska! She couldn't stand you for ages, and now you both get along just fine!"

"Yeah, I can't really argue with that..." Mustang said, only half in jest.

"And as for my parents… I can't pretend that I'm okay with them being dead. And I can't just pretend you weren't the one who killed them. But… But they were good people too. They wanted to help everyone, and I think they'd want you to earn your forgiveness. They'd want me to give you another chance."

Winry straightened her back. "And I do too. So, I'm going to. You _will_ to have to earn my forgiveness, but I'm pretty sure you won't disappoint." She smirked at him. "Well, not much, anyway."

Mustang just stared at her, his eye bright with surprise. His mouth was ever so slightly ajar. There was silence for a time, as Winry watched the man really take in just what she had told him. Then, like donning a familiar old cap, his face became a smirk and he chuckled. "Ah, you wound me, Miss Rockbell. But you also set me at ease. More at ease than even I realised."

He took one hand out of his pocket and held it out to her. "Perhaps I will earn that forgiveness someday. Guess it can't hurt to try."

And that was that. She had come out and said what felt right. Winry suddenly felt… Maybe not wholly better, but certainly different. It felt like a first step into something new. She hoped that she was right about what her parents would have wanted. But even if she wasn't, she wasn't going to let the shadow of their absence rule her conscience.

She took Mustang's proffered hand and shook it. It was a strange thing, in some way, to feel the passing of something significant. But Winry was glad to let it pass as it did.

With a brief look back at Sheska, who was beaming at the pair of them from a little way off, Winry broke the comfortable silence again. "Alright. Old baggage is out of the way. What else did you need to say to me?"

His face falling a little, Mustang sighed and closed his eye. "I'm afraid that we're going to have to be seeing a lot more of each other for now."

"Well, that's a hell of a way to proposition someone."

"No, not like that!" Mustang flustered outburst made Winry smirk, but when he remained serious, she followed suit.

"What's happened?"

"Your grandmother called while you were travelling. She got a strange phone call from a woman asking for you. And there's a… situation ongoing that you need to know about."

"Is Grandma alright? What's happened?" Worry replaced the good feeling Winry had been enjoying.

Mustang held up his hands reassuringly. "She's fine. But it's you that we're both worried about."

"What's going on, Roy?" Winry demanded, her worry creeping into her voice.

Putting his hands in his pockets once more and breathed deeply. "What I'm about to tell you is what I've been allowed to tell you by my superiors, you understand?"

When Winry nodded mutely, he carried on. "I've been assigned to chase and put an end to some very dangerous people; a cult that want to find a way to access the Portal to the other world, like what happened two years ago. We conducted a raid on what we thought was their attempt to open that Portal, and we arrested several of them. But we were tricked. Now, one of my men, Breda, has been captured by them, and one of those we captured has said the rest of them are looking for several people, including you."

"Wha… Me? What could they want with me?" Winry did her best to keep her voice calm, despite the confusion and unease she was experiencing.

"I'm afraid we don't know, yet. They claim to be planning something big, and they want you and others they've chosen involved in it somehow."

"So, what I am supposed to do now, if I've got a cult coming after me?!" Images of leering, hooded phantoms reaching out to her while cackling played in Winry's mind like a surreal piece of theatre, both arresting and ludicrous.

"I want you stay with me and my team, or with other soldiers we can trust, and that way you'll be safer. I can't advise that you continue your journey beyond Central, and certainly don't go anywhere alone."

"This is a lot to spring on me after a big heart-to-heart." Winry blurted out, feeling that this obvious truth had somehow escaped Mustang.

"You went through enough during Fullmetal's escapades that I reckon you can handle it." Mustang said, a tiny smirk flitting across his mouth like a lizard over hot sand.

Winry laughed, but her nerves gave it a hysterical edge. Still, it helped to break the tension she felt, and she found something to focus on. Clearing her throat and breathing calmly, she looked over Mustang as if appraising him.

"People you trust, you said?" She asked straightforwardly.

"That's right." Mustang answered in kind.

"Are there any soldiers you trust as much as your team?"

"You have a point. Some come close, but no."

Winry nodded assertively. "Then I'm staying with you. Even if you have to chase these people across the country, I'm probably going to be safest with you and Riza and the rest. Besides, I can look after myself while I'm tagging along."

"From what I've seen and been told, I have no doubt you will." Mustang sounded genuinely relieved, and Winry chose to take that as a good sign.

With a nod in the direction of the ever-patient Sheska, he said, "Alright, I think poor Sheska's getting lonely. If you prefer, you can stay with Gracia tonight, but after that, I'd like to keep you a little closer to hand in the dorms. You can…" Mustang paused, and Winry sensed his apprehension. "You can use Lieutenant Breda's bunk in the barracks, if that's suitable for you."

"That… That sounds fine." Winry's feelings at using the bed of a man being held in captivity a little unsettling, but she recognised it as purely practical. And while she imagined the Military's regulation beds weren't exactly the height of cosiness, she was used to sleeping in awkward or uncomfortable spots. "Don't worry, I'll be happy to stay there." She added, a little more convincingly.

"That's good." Mustang said, readjusting his coat. "I need to return to Central Command and keep up the investigation into these people. I'll send Captain Hawkeye to stay with you as well this evening."

"Hmm. I'd like to see Riza again. It's been too long" Winry commented wistfully. She took one last look at Maes Hughes' gravestone before she began to turn to walk away, but she looked back one more time at Mustang. "Thanks for talking to me, Roy."

Mustang nodded slowly, deeply. "Thanks for listening, Winry."

No other goodbyes were said. None were needed. Instead, Winry returned to Sheska, and they began to make their way back out into the world of the living, while behind them, Mustang made his peace with the dead for just a little while longer.

* * *

 _Author's Notes_

 _EDIT 03/12/18: Changed Halcrow back to Hakuro, after realising that keeping the dub's version of the name over the original intended name is more thematically appropriate to the story I'm trying to tell._

 _I seem to be dead set on covering the emotional aspects of these characters so far, don't I? Well, while I don't think this is altogether a bad thing, I hope to introduce a bit more action again in the next chapter. I have also updated the blurb of the story, so don't worry if you think something's changed, because it has.  
_

 _If you will forgive me a moment of shameless pandering, and you have read my story up to this point and are enjoying it, or even if you are not and are happy to say why, I will always appreciate a comment from you if you are inclined to give it._

 _Trivia time:_

 _The brandy Ed mentions is_ _țuică, a spirit distilled from plums and consumed in all manner of traditional gatherings and holidays in Romania, including family reunions, and before meals as an aperitif._

 _ _In regards to Noah learning to fight alongside the Elrics, I realised as I was writing this chapter that I hadn't planned much for her character over the course of the story, as despite what character development she did have in Conqueror of Shamballa, it didn't feel like a lot to springboard off of. I want to avoid defaulting her to ending up as a damsel in distress or otherwise leaving the action to the brothers. So choosing to have her learn to fight and defend herself gives me more options to include her in the story and flesh her out a bit better.__

 _Major Sterling, of course, follows the tradition of being named after military equipment of some kind. In this case, the British Sterling submachine gun, made famous by its use as the base for the blaster rifles wielded by Star Wars' iconic stormtroopers._

 _ _I felt that writing the graveyard scene was important for this story, as it's my interpretation of a scene that was originally planned to appear between Winry and Mustang in Conqueror of Shamballa, and was cut for time. While I doubt that the way I've conceived of the pair's reconciliation is much like what may have been intended for that film, I wanted to give these two that scene in my own way.__

 _ _The same goes with Ed's story about his trip with Hohenheim, really. I wanted for those characters to have one good, positive family moment between them. Plus, it gave me a chance to explain when and how Hohenheim gave Edward all those extra prosthetic limbs, as he was mentioned to have in CoS.__

 _Until next time, dear reader._


	6. The Pension Moritz

**The Pension Moritz**

 _Let me tell you a story._

 _Separating from his brothers in their shared exile, the great warrior prince travelled into the snow-capped mountains, searching for celestial weapons. With these, he and his brothers might yet reclaim the kingdom that had been cheated from them._

 _Amidst the snowy peaks, the prince quarrelled with a hunter over game they both claimed to have shot. They fought, but soon the hunter triumphed and revealed himself to be the god of destruction in mortal form._

 _The warrior prince repented his folly and begged forgiveness. The god, pleased by his humility, offered any favour asked of him. The prince asked the god for the ultimate divine weapon; a weapon that could destroy the universe with its power._

 _The god bestowed this boon upon the prince, and from above a great tumult sounded, and down from heaven came the king of gods; the prince's father. Taking his son to heaven, he spent many centuries training the prince in how to use the divine weapon safely, when the time was right. When the prince was returned to the mountains, it was as if no time had passed at all._

 _Thus, newly armed and wise, the prince continued his travels in exile, until the time would come to reveal himself again._

* * *

He observed them all, watching their habits as they indulged in the comforts offered to them.

His Mentor had explained what needed to happen here, and to avoid calling on his newly-instilled power if possible. He was content to listen to the old man's words, but he couldn't help but want to just tear his way through this rabble of murderous hypocrites and be done with it.

All these men, schemers and thugs, with dreams of control and destruction, of petty grief and revenge. All these men he had to sit and stomach the presence of just a little longer, until the time was right.

Once, he had been much like them. He had only cared about his own desires and need to hurt others for the wrongs he had felt were done to him. Now, he saw what that looked like from the outside, and it made him feel sick.

Yet still he had to hide among them all, this pathetic remnant of a once powerful cult; these dreamers with ambitions to rule a nation through the promise of occult power. They had been lured here by riches and weapons; the means to dominate those they called their enemies. And their host, the mysterious Winslow Hart, had seen fit to serve them a decadent supper before they got to business.

He listened to them talk among themselves. A lot of it was about mundane and simple things, and some of it was in anticipation of what they would do after tonight. Words were shared of how disappointing the state of the world was, and how it would all become better if they could just claw their way back to power, and to wipe out everyone who held them back from greatness.

It almost put him off his own food to think of what they might attempt.

At one end of the dining hall, with a view down its length, sat Karl Harrer, looking dour and focused as his men revelled in the lavish meal.

And of course, Winslow Hart had to sit next to the man amongst all this, to take it all in and seem eager to deal with these people. The image Hart presented was of a gentleman and a gracious benefactor, and if the gluttony of the Thule Society was anything to go by, he was making a good impression.

Harrer was talking to Hart about the Society's woes of late. Having to rely on the treacherous Nazi party and the man in charge of it, and how the Fuhrer had severed all ties and friendship with them in the aftermath of the Munich uprising and the attempts to reach Shamballa. Going underground after their failures and being scattered and whittled away by those who were chasing them.

He knew the ones who Harrer referred to, even if he played coy with Hart about their identities. It didn't matter. They would be involved in this mess soon enough, he was sure.

He knew the part Winslow Hart had to play in all this before the end as well. He would make sure that whatever happened tonight would be to his and his Mentor's advantage.

With another sip of beer he didn't care for, he kept his eyes on everything that happened.

* * *

There was snow in places here, even at the end of October. It was certainly cold enough for it, Edward was convinced. Even with the spare winter clothing Eusebie had managed to provide him, Al and Noah, he felt the pain of the cold cutting against his face.

Before him, after the days of journeying and training and anticipating being here, lay the grand, sweeping majesty of the German Alps. And nestled amongst those mountains, away from other buildings and settlements, was their shared target.

The Pension Moritz boarding house stood squat and stocky on the gentle slope it occupied. Just like in the photograph Ed had seen of it, it appeared quiet and peaceful. He wondered how long it would stay that way, with what he and Eusebie had planned between them.

They had only managed to get here in time, and be set up in the ideal locations, before the deal was meant to take place. The Pension Moritz had small hills looming above it on two sides, and one of these had a large collection of trees on it. It provided perfect cover for the large armed group to hide in the dying light as they set up for their operation.

Now Ed, Al and Noah were moving closer, ahead of Eusebie's soldiers.

Over the last hour, Ed and Eusebie had both been looking at the main building through a pair of binoculars, observing their goal and making plans around them. With the last light of the day to see by, they had observed a large group of people leave the hotel and head down the long path leading away from it, or otherwise being escorted from the premises. Alphonse had reasoned, and everyone else had agreed, that these were most likely the hotel staff being sent away. They had no place being near the shady deal happening tonight.

As all this had unfolded, Ed had tracked the movements of men apparently on guard around the Pension Moritz in long wool coats. It seemed that the last of the Thule Society were making sure their business tonight would not be interrupted.

Edward aimed to make sure it _would_ be. The plan they had concocted was simple enough, and open to revision as the situation changed accordingly. The three of them would thin out the patrols around the outside of the hotel and give Eusebie's men space to surround the Pension Moritz undetected. While they did this, Ed, Al and Noah would go inside, and make their way to where the deal was happening. If they met Becker on the way, they were to explain the situation and work with him. Eusebie had suggested that if they could get close to the deal and the bomb, and then stay alive long enough for his men to get inside and cut the lights at an opportune moment, then they would be all be able to take advantage of the confusion to snatch the bomb from the Society and from Winslow Hart, and take out anyone in their way if needs be.

So now, the three of them crept ever closer to the Pension Moritz. They would start taking out troops around the main building, while other small groups of men would handle any soldiers in the outlying buildings near the hotel proper.

Under his heavy coat, Edward felt the weight of the Luger pistol and large bowie knife Eusebie had furnished him with. He had accepted them without comment, on the clear understanding that he could use them at his own discretion.

Alphonse and Noah stayed close to him as they crept along, hunched over and knees bent to keep their profiles low. Al had decided to remain unarmed, but with his skill in martial arts, Ed was confident his brother could handle himself and remain cautious. Noah had been given a pistol as well, but she had decided to only use it if she couldn't get up close to anyone she fought.

Al was also carrying a small signal light that he could use to send a message to the soldiers waiting to move in behind them. The plan was to get close and quietly take out enough of the patrolling men that Eusebie's reinforcements could reach the hotel in small groups without being spotted. Then they could move inside quickly and efficiently and get the drop on the Thule Society and Winslow Hart inside.

Moving at a painstaking pace, they all reached level ground, just around the building. They kept low and moved only when they could be concealed. It didn't take long for them to spot and shadow the first patrol, watching over the back of the main building closest to the tree-capped hill.

There were two men walking along, their hands in the pockets of their wool coats, and with no visible weapons on their person. Ed doubted very much that they were unarmed, though. There was plenty of space under those coats to hide a pistol or even a submachine gun. They couldn't take chances.

One of the two guards was smoking a cigarette, grimacing against the cold air engulfing everything. They were looking at their surroundings carefully, but with as much enthusiasm as any petty guard would in such miserable circumstances. Ed could hear murmured conversation pass between them as they went past. He, Al and Noah remained unnoticed.

Ed saw Al get his attention out of the corner of his eye, and with a series of pointing and nodding, indicated a plan to him and Noah. Edward was incredulous at first, but he relented under Alphonse's insistent glare.

Silently, Noah and he made their way closer to the wall, behind the patrolling guards, while Alphonse made his way parallel to them. Edward watched as his brother pretended to trip and make a little cry of pain.

Almost instantly, the guards spun to face him, hands going under their coats and drawing guns. To their credit, they didn't shout or point their weapons at Alphonse at first. But they quickly saw what looked like a boy, barely a man, scared and in pain, looking lost.

"Please, sirs…" Alphonse wailed quietly, affecting a passable Berlin accent. "I've been hurt… I can't find Papa. I want to go home…"

Al's act was even tugging at Ed heartstrings, it was that sincere. Him and Noah took advantage of the distraction and moved closer to their targets.

"Ah, Hell, what do we do? He's just a kid." The guard with the cigarette aske

"Damn it…" the other guard's response sounded tired and annoyed, but he shrugged. "Alright, I'll take him inside, try and find out where he came from. Of all the nights…"

"We need to keep him away from the meeting, you know."

"Hey, I'm not stupid! Just wait here until I get back." The second guard approached Alphonse hunched form, a hand held out to him. "Hey, kid. Can you walk okay?"

"I… I think so… Bless you, mister… I just want to find Papa." Alphonse sniffled. He actually _sniffled_ , just to play up his innocent boy act. Ed wasn't sure whether he wouldn't ruin their ambush by either weeping at Alphonse's acting skills or retching at his melodrama.

But he held his tongue, and soon both him and Noah were behind the guards without their noticing.

The poor saps never had a hope. Before they even had time to turn around, they both took a sharp blow to the head, either from an automail fist or the grip of a pistol. They collapsed to the ground with a soft groan.

Ed got to see Al straighten up, clearly pleased with his performance.

Ed himself couldn't help but grin and speak up playfully. "Not bad, Alphonse. You almost had me buying your sob story."

"Happy to help." Alphonse replied lightly, not rising to his brother's jab. "We need to keep moving; take out a few more patrols."

They made their way around the edge of the compound, stopping to observe, planning, and then either letting a patrol pass to meet up with another, or else take it out with expert efficiency.

Briefly, they made sure to check the other hill rising over the hotel, and thought they caught just a hint of movement. That was most likely the small group Eusebie had assigned to take that hill for their own. They'd had no doubt that a spotter or a sniper would be up there as they planned, so they made sure to mitigate that potential threat before they moved in.

Eventually, the three of them were around to the front of the Pension Moritz, and they could see the only pathway leading to and from the place. Parked along it, one after the other, were a trio of sturdy trucks, the cargo beds covered in tarpaulin raised on tall frames. From here, it looked like there were no guards around them. For now, Ed was content to ignore them, reasoning that Eusebie's men on the hill would be able to keep watch over them.

Instead, they continued around the hotel perimeter, picking up their pace as they did. The more guards stopped patrolling, the more chance someone would notice something was wrong.

After fifteen minutes of this methodical culling, they were confident that the area was secure, and Al went out alone to a point he could send his signal to the bulk of Eusebie's men to move in. Edward watched as his brother knelt down hugging the hotel wall, facing the tree-covered hill. He took out his signal light and began flashing a coded message at the treeline above him. From where he was, Ed couldn't make out a response, but Alphonse soon returned to them looking satisfied.

"They're moving down now," he whispered. "We should wait for them to set up."

"Ah, come on, Al." Edward said with a grin. "We can handle ourselves. Besides, we need to make sure someone's near the bomb if things go bad."

Alphonse sighed, and looked at Noah for an opinion. She didn't say anything, but she threw her head in Ed's direction and then nodded, indicating she agreed with him. Outnumbered, Alphonse closed his eyes and shrugged. "Alright, Brother, we'll follow your lead."

Ed began making a beeline towards the Pension Moritz, beckoning his cohorts to follow behind him as he did. He felt confident that they would be better heading inside, being ready for trouble sooner. Besides, he was sure Eusebie would forgive him if this got results.

The time they'd spent talking over the last few days had seen Edward come to start respecting the man. He wasn't usually one to like men of Eusebie's type, but something about the man's odd charisma got to him.

He almost reflexively reached under his coat and withdrew his Luger, checking the safety and then holding it barrel up in his left hand. He was prepared to use it. He just hoped he wouldn't have to.

The three of them reached the doors to enter the Pension Moritz, and they quietly crept their way inside.

* * *

Eusebie watched as his new allies moved into the Hotel. They were loose cannons, which didn't entirely suit his needs, but he could adapt for the sake of getting this done.

He looked around him at the soldiers around him. All of them loyal to a fault, and already moving out from Alphonse Elric's signal. He couldn't help but smile to himself. With the Elrics and their companion's help, the bomb would soon be kept out of the wrong hands.

He knew that he would have to tell them about his enemy soon, but until he had the bomb securely with them, he had to keep them at arm's length. Until then, he was keen to see how good his new allies really were. So, he watched from the hill and let the plan take its course.

In the sky above, a cloud obscuring the moon floated on, and pale, dim light covered the land. It shone down on Eusebie's men as they closed in under the dark of night, and it was as if the hills themselves had come to life with their movement.

* * *

As they traversed the Pension Moritz's cosy interior, Edward was grateful that the wood he, Al and Noah walked on didn't creak as much as he had feared. He kept his weapons to hand, just in case they bumped into another patrol or some hapless straggler searching for the bathroom.

They all moved slowly, keeping to the walls and checking every corner, nook and cranny as they went. They had been lucky so far, but he didn't want to rely on it. The complete lack of working staff confirmed his suspicions from before, and he considered what was being done here. He idly wondered just how much money it would have taken to appease whoever owned this place into giving them free run of their property for an evening.

It did not take long for them to hear a bustle of activity from the other end of the building, and they made their way towards it. They found themselves at a corner, around which the sounds came more clearly, and Edward peeked around to see what he could.

He was looking down a short corridor leading to a set of double doors, behind which much of the noise came. In front of the doors were two guards, both in utilitarian clothes with some light armour adorning their torsos. He'd seen armour like it on Thule Society soldiers the first time he'd broken into Haushofer's villa.

Despite the different clothing, he immediately recognised the face of one of the guards as Rudi Becker; Eusebie's plant in the Society's ranks. He moved back from the corner and turned to face his brother and Noah.

"There's two guards at the end of the corridor. One of them is Eusebie's inside man." He kept his voice as low as he could, closing in so they could both hear him.

"What are you planning to do?" Noah whispered back.

Looking back over his shoulder for a moment as he thought, Edward's face broke out in another cocky smile. "Something stupid, but I'm sure I can pull it off."

"Don't get yourself killed, Brother." Alphonse said, deadpanning.

"Hey! It's me!" Ed answered with a wink. Alphonse and Noah's knowing silence was all that met him in response.

Putting his weapons away, he stood up, raised his hands and walked out in full view of the guards at the door. Almost instantly, they snapped to attention and had their guns pointed at him.

"Hey, don't move! Who the hell are you?" barked the first guard, striding closer to Ed. For a moment, Ed played dumb, looking surprised and pointing down at himself questioningly with a raised hand.

"Oh, I heard there was a party on tonight. I wanted to see if me and my friend Mr Eusebie could join the fun?"

"Eusebie? Listen, shorty, you're not supposed to be here! How'd you even get past-"

Edward's smile had turned into an outraged sneer at the 'shorty' comment, but the guard didn't get to finish his sentence before Rudi Becker, without a word, came up behind him and brought the butt of his submachine gun to the man's head. As he fell to his knees with a groan, Edward brought his flesh and bone fist down to finish the job and bludgeon the guard unconscious.

"I'm not short," he hissed. "I'm fun-sized!"

"Quick, get him around the corner!" Becker whispered frantically.

With the others' help, Ed got the unconscious body around the corner as their new potential friend went back to the door and waited. As soon as Ed hid and looked back, it clicked open slightly, and some murmured conversation passed between Becker and whoever was inside. Whatever Becker told them seemed to keep them satisfied, as the door closed again and he visibly relaxed. After hiding the body in the shadows of a nearby alcove, Ed led Al and Noah into the corridor, and Becker met them halfway.

"Are you Edward Elric?" Becker asked Ed. "Mr Eusebie said you'd come ahead of the rest. That was a bold stunt you pulled."

"It got the job done," Ed replied with a shrug. "And you're Rudi Becker, right?"

"Right." Becker turned and pointed at the double doors. "Karl Harrer and the rest of his men are in there now, starting the trade with Winslow Hart. It's not going to be easy sneaking you in there."

"Oh, I don't know…" Ed said, knowingly. "I think it might be easier than you think."

"What do you mean?"

"Us and Eusebie have a plan. We've been a thorn in their side for long enough by now. I think Harrer and his cronies would love to have us as their hostages while they finish their business." Edward was still smirking as he held up his hands again. He was having too much fun with this. "And look here, I seem to have been captured. Isn't that right, guys?"

Both Noah and Alphonse looked at him and shared his smirk. Then they too stowed their weapons and put their hands up. Becker looked at them all incredulously, but he nodded. "If you want to risk it, I'll go along. But I won't blow my cover for you. Not until we're sure we can get the bomb."

"Right. Just let us handle things. If they keep us hostage long enough, your boss's men will kill the lights in here and we can grab the bomb when no-one can see. If we mess up, Eusebie's got the rest of your guys closing in. None of them are getting away."

As he and the others lined up, Becker aimed his gun from the hip and pointed it at them all. Ed appreciated the man keeping his finger off the trigger.

Inside his head, he hoped that this confident scheme actually worked.

* * *

Alphonse brought up the rear of their fake hostage convoy, and Becker made the show of shoving him through the door as they passed through it. He did his best not to take it personally.

They were led into the Pension Moritz' dining room, long and wide to accommodate many guests for meals. He could imagine that it normally had tables arranged throughout, but all the normal furniture in here now had been pushed aside and stacked up against the walls to open the space up.

A few tables were still set out, empty save for the cloth that covered them, and a suitcase placed neatly on the end of one. Several crates had been brought in from somewhere and placed nearby.

More noticeable than the décor were the people. Most of them looked like more members of the Thule Society, some in suits, some in uniforms, and a few here and there in body armour. Almost all of them were armed.

Just in front of all of them, also in a suit, was Karl Harrer, their leader. Alphonse recognised the man from the photograph included in the evidence Minister Stresemann had given them to study. The man's moon-faced complexion belied the scowl he was wearing as he observed Edward, Alphonse and Noah being led into the room.

Closer to the tables and the crates was the unmistakable sight of Winslow Hart. Seeing him in the flesh after all their study of him caused Alphonse to feel a little shiver of excitement.

Much like the original photo Eusebie had given them, Hart wore a beautifully tailored suit. With the added effect of colour, the deep burgundy of the suit jacket and trousers drank in the light of the room and created a warm look. Yet even indoors, he was still wearing the same sunglasses he had in that picture. His hair looked a little longer than the photo, but he kept it neat. He was just as much the image of a playboy as before.

From where he was, Alphonse saw Hart's expression change a little as he observed them. It was hard to make his face out completely with the glasses covering up his eyes, but he could just see his mouth open slightly, like he was surprised to see them. But the look passed as quickly as it came, and Hart became stoic again.

Becker lined them all up against the wall closest to the door and, walking past Alphonse, he pushed Edward to his knees. There was a dull clank as Ed's automail knee connected with the wooden floor through his trouser leg. Alphonse could see him wince at the pain his natural knee suffered from the drop.

"What is the meaning of this, Becker?" Harrer growled as Alphonse and Noah quickly joined Ed on their knees.

"The patrols caught these three trying to sneak past them into the hotel, sir." Becker played his part as well as Alphonse might have imagined. "They haven't said who they are, but I thought you might want to see them personally."

"You idiot!" Harrer snapped. Becker did not react. "You should know exactly who these people are! They're the Elric brothers and their filthy little gypsy cohort! They've been hounding us for two years now for the damn bomb!"

"My apologies, sir. What do you want done with them?"

"Well…" Harrer smirk was cruel as he walked through his men to get a look at the three of them. "Perhaps it's not so bad that they're here. As long as you keep them in line, they have to watch their prize slip away again." He turned back up to look at Becker. "Were they armed?"

"The patrol took their weapons when they caught them. They were dropped off here. The short one got feisty and knocked Dietrich out. I've laid him down out in the corridor for now."

Alphonse caught Ed baring his teeth and stifling a growl at being called short the second time in an hour.

"Very well," Harrer sighed irritably. He motioned for two of the armed men behind him to go outside and watch the door in Becker's stead. Another couple of men joined Becker by the three prisoners and kept their weapons trained on them. There was now one gun aimed at each of their heads, but none of the guards fired as the three of them quietly lowered their hands to their laps.

"Now, if you three pests behave yourselves, I won't have you bound and gagged." Harrer was enjoying his apparent power over Al and the others. He felt a twinge of confidence in knowing that they weren't as helpless as they seemed.

"Enjoy yourself while you can, you bastard." Edward hissed back. For this, he earned a slap across the face from Harrer.

"Rest assured, I will, Elric. Perhaps I should just put an end to your interference now."

Before anyone else could react to Harrer's implied threat, someone cleared their throat loudly. Everyone turned to look at Winslow Hart, who had made the noise.

"I would prefer it, Mr Harrer, if we could conclude our business first." Hart's voice was soft, but his German accent sounded a little off. Al remembered that he was also English, according to Eusebie's notes. That would explain the odd inflections. "Whatever quarrel you have these… people… is of no interest to me."

"You won't understand this, Mr Hart, but these three have been a constant thorn in the Society's side these last two years. Perhaps the threat they could pose is lost on you."

"I am merely a businessman, Mr Harrer. One who does not like having his time wasted for personal grudges, however justified."

Though it wasn't directed at Hart himself, the expression Harrer wore in response to the comment could have soured milk. He turned around and marched back towards the young man, his right hand clenched in a fist.

"As you wish. Let us get this over with, then." Harrer waved a hand at the crates behind Hart. "Show us your promised payment."

"Show me _my_ promised payment." Hart countered, his voice level, his face betraying no strong emotion.

With an angry scoff, Harrer waved his hand, and a guard in armour came forward holding a metal box, roughly the size of a wine crate. This was placed on one of the tables provided, its lid opened, and the contents lifted carefully out for all to see.

There it was, after having not seen it for years. The uranium bomb that Huskisson had made back in Amestris, back when Alphonse had been armour. It was right there, in front of him, after all this time. He was still amazed by how small it seemed, and yet if Huskisson's word had been true, it held the power to destroy this entire hill, and plenty more besides.

The guard holding the bomb showed it forth to Hart, who scrutinised it carefully. After a while he nodded slowly.

"It's quite something. A device that can create an explosion more powerful than anything else on the planet. Fascinating…" Hart sounded a little awestruck at the notion of finally seeing the device. Alphonse felt anger at the man's flippant interest in such a devastating weapon.

Hart sharply looked at Harrer and narrowed his eyes. "How do I know that this isn't some cheap fake you cobbled together last week?" he asked accusingly.

"How exactly do you expect us to prove it's real, Mr Hart?!" Harrer did nothing to hide his anger at Hart's scepticism. "Perhaps you'd like us to set it off right here? Perhaps dying in the explosion will convince you?"

"Nothing quite so extreme." Hart said, his mouth quirking in a half-smile. "My associate Mr Sid will be able to tell if it's real or not."

Hart snapped his fingers, and from the back of the room stepped a new figure. Alphonse hadn't even realised anyone was there, although he hadn't really been paying much attention to anyone else after Harrer and Hart.

Mr Sid turned out to be a handsome, dark-skinned man with curly black hair and a neat beard. Streaks of silver hair among the black and subtle wrinkles on the man's face indicated his age. He was dressed in the outfit of a servant, complete with white silk gloves, and his demeanour was precise and docile. From what Alphonse knew of the different peoples of Earth, this man was of Indian ethnicity.

There was a scoffing sound from Harrer that drew his attention just as the man spoke again. "You're trusting this to a… _man_ like him?"

"He is a good servant," Hart replied coldly, "he knows more than you realise, and he does as he's told. That's what matters."

Mr Sid stepped forward without a word towards the guard holding the bomb. The guard hesitated and looked at Harrer, who nodded stiffly, and reluctantly, the bomb was handed over. Alphonse felt a little swell of exasperation at the behaviour directed at Hart's servant.

With piercing brown eyes, the man looked over the uranium bomb, using techniques that only he understood as he held it in his gloved hands. He observed the red casing, the valve, the ports and the timer. He carefully tested the weight and touched the valves without turning them. Everyone was watching in various states of curiosity. Alphonse wondered just how this person would know anything about the uranium bomb.

Eventually, Mr Sid handed the bomb back to the guard who had held it before, returned to his master's side, and gave him a nod.

"I am convinced it is genuine, sir." The man spoke with a crisp English accent, and his voice had an instant calming quality that Alphonse couldn't help but enjoy hearing.

"Very good, Mr Sid." Hart said, nodding gratefully at the man before addressing Harrer and his men again. "Alright, gentleman, I suppose it's my turn. Please have your men help me with the crates, Mr Harrer."

Stiffly, Harrer relented and picked out four men who went over to the crates Hart wanted moved. It took all of them to move just one of the crates, and Alphonse wondered what was in it to make it so heavy. The second crate wasn't as troublesome, nor was the third. By the end of it, three crates were in the middle of the room, and the four hapless men were left panting and grumbling.

Leaving Mr Sid standing to attention, Hart picked up a crowbar from one of the crates still at the end of the room and went to newly moved ones. With a cracking of wood, he pried the lid off two of them. He set down the crowbar and reached into the crates, taking something from each of them and moving to place them on the cloth-covered tables at his end of the long dining hall.

Al recognised one of the items he held as a gun before he had even set it down. It was a long-barrelled machine gun, sleek and factory-built. He has seen it's like before among the armoured monsters that had once been soldiers of the Thule Society's invasion of Amestris two years ago. Where the hell had Winslow Hart found or built weapons like that?

As he put the gun on the table, Hart kept the other item long enough to walk up to Harrer and toss it to him. It glistened in the light as it flew. It was a bar of what looked like solid gold. Harrer caught it and weighed it in his hands as he examined it.

"Pure, 24-carat bullion, all unmarked. Four crates full of gold from my personal fortune. As high a percentage of gold in those bars as can be refined. But I'm sure you're smart enough to not just take my word for it."

Harrer looked back among his goons and waved someone closer. From the throng, one of his men stepped forward with a case in his hand. Harrer passed the man the gold bar, and he set it and the case on the nearby table and got to work, checking it over with a magnifying glass and a smaller bar of metal that Alphonse assumed was a magnet. They were making sure the gold was real.

It took a minute for the tests to be conducted to the examiner's satisfaction, but he eventually turned and nodded silently at Harrer, who in turn looked back to Hart. "That's two thirds of the promised payment. What about the schematics?"

Even as Harrer spoke, Hart was walking over to the briefcase he had left on his table. He opened it smartly and produced a stack of folded paper, bound in string. He broke the wrap, opened up some of the paper and laid it out for all to see on the table. Harrer approached with two men at his flanks and examined it.

"Alfons Heiderich's Legacy, and the legacy of those he worked with." Hart said, gesturing at the paper with a flourish. "The technical details and diagrams for advanced rocket technology, and how to apply them to the airships your Society had Heiderich build two years ago. All the explanations for how to make such wondrous new technology work and how to produce these mighty flying vessels in great numbers. They were a most fascinating study."

"And just how did you come by these papers, Mr Hart? Convenient that you should have them after they were stolen from our Society. Their loss added insult to injury after Dietlinde Eckhart's efforts to reach Shamballa failed."

"Ah, yes, Dietlinde Eckhart." Hart made little effort to disguise his contempt as he spoke of her. "The would-be conqueror of Shamballa. Although I suppose 'shambolic conqueror' would be more fitting."

"I would thank you not speak ill of my late colleague, Mr Hart, and answer my question!" Harrer patience ran out as he raised his voice.

"If you're asking if I'm the one who stole them from you, Mr Harrer, then even if I was, I wouldn't tell you. And it wouldn't matter at this point. What matters is that we're here to do business; I give you all these boons for one single little uranium bomb. I think you should focus your attention on our deal."

"I would like to, Mr Hart, but I find your attitude off-putting. After everything we talked about over dinner, I would have thought you might take the Society and our mission more seriously."

"I take you seriously in as much as I want the bomb you possess. Beyond that, I don't care for your goals, or for your methods. What you do with the weapons and the plans and the gold I'm giving you doesn't matter to me." Hart put a hand to his chest and bowed gently. "But I apologise for offending you. I want this to go as quickly and smoothly as you do. Perhaps you would like to inspect the weapons before we complete the deal?"

Harrer could only manage a barely placated huff before nodding and turning to look at the machine gun Hart had placed down nearby. The young gunsmith retrieved it and, with a deft series of movements, cocked it multiple times and performed all manner of checks on it, making sure it was functioning perfectly.

Still knelt with Ed and Noah and taking all this in, Alphonse was frowning and pondering where this was going. He expected the kind of frustrated, self-important pontificating Harrer was speaking as everything played out, but Hart's seemingly casual disregard for the Thule Society's goals stood at odds with what they might have expected. He came across as he might otherwise be expected of someone like him; a disinterested playboy. Alphonse wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or disappointed.

Briefly, he looked at his brother and friend, and caught Noah looking at him with a worried but determined expression. She had her lips pursed as she gave him a questioning look. Alphonse tried to make his own expression reassuring and he shook his head as subtly as he could manage. Noah closed her eyes briefly, apparently accepting his judgement, before she went back to watching everything that occurred.

Alphonse felt compelled to do the same. He imagined that Ed was making a clear layout of the room as he looked around it, knowing where everyone was, where he could move, how he could fight if and when the lights went out. He decided to try and do the same. With the element of surprise on their side, and maybe with Mr Becker's help, they would accomplish their goal quickly, and none of them would be killed.

By now, Harrer was handling the machine gun and testing its weight and feel. Hart had gone back to the crates while he hadn't been looking, and he was carrying a magazine of ammunition for the firearm in his hand.

"How did you get this design, Mr Hart? The Society had this type of gun made exclusively for our plans."

"I was able to obtain a few during the government's seizure of all the Society's materials two years ago. I studied them and began making my own." Hart casually looked over the magazine he held while explaining himself. "I don't know who designed this weapon originally, but I'm impressed by how it works. Very ahead of its time. The length of a rifle with the rate of fire of a machine gun. An automatic rifle, I suppose. I believe that's the next step in innovating how soldiers fight."

"Hmph. Why am I not surprised that a gunsmith is the most interested in how our firearms are made?" Harrer handed the machine gun to one of the two bodyguards shadowing him. "At least something we developed impresses you."

Hart shrugged and grinned arrogantly. "Well, it was a good start, certainly. I took the liberty of making some upgrades to the design that you should find quite useful."

"I'm sure I will, Mr Hart. However, if I might take a page from your book, I don't much care to hear the details of the guns, only that they work."

"As you wish." Hart did a good job of hiding his disappointment, if he felt any.

The young gunsmith held out the magazine to the bodyguard holding the gun, who took it and loaded it into the weapon firmly. He cocked the gun and aimed it off to the side, getting feel. Alphonse could see from here that even if his boss wasn't interested in the particulars of his new guns, his subordinates were more than happy to enjoy the new firepower provided.

"Please tell me you people are almost done." Edward's deliberately bored drawl changed the atmosphere in the dining hall instantly. Heads turned to look at him, most sneering. Alphonse saw Winslow Hart only gaze at Edward briefly before he subtly turned his head away, as if avoiding having to look at any of them.

Becker smacked Edward across the face with the back of his hand. Alphonse didn't like it, but even as his emotions welled up in outrage, he knew Becker wasn't being personal.

"If you're that keen to die, Mr Elric, I won't hesitate once we're finished." Harrer sneered at Edward as the younger man slumped forward and exhaled painfully. "Until I'm ready for you, shut your mouth!"

Edward bared his teeth as his cheek turned red with the blow he'd taken, but he said nothing. Alphonse, however, felt compelled to try and reach out to Winslow Hart and hear from him before they ran out of time.

"Mr Hart?" He asked firmly. The guard standing over him looked ready to strike him into silence as well. Alphonse saw hart look at him, really look at him for the first time, and side-stepped Harrer to come into view.

"Yes, Master… Elric, was it?"

The guards stopped and looked frustrated at Harrer, who rounded on Alphonse and glared over the distance between them.

Hart pre-empted Harrer's incoming vitriol. "Let him speak," he said, softly. "He's not going anywhere, so let him say his peace. At least he's politer than his brother."

"Why do you even want that bomb? You said you're a businessman, so why would someone like you need a weapon that powerful? It's the one thing we couldn't work out about you. I want to hear what your stake in all this is before the end."

Hart didn't say anything at first, tilting his head back in thought. No-one interrupted him. The Society goons, even Harrer, were watching him, apparently just as curious to hear what the man's answer would be.

Then Hart laughed. It caught everyone off-guard. "Even when it's all but certain you'll die, you still manage to be curious. I'm impressed, Master Elric. I suppose you deserve an explanation for your troubles."

If the man was prepared to showboat a little, Alphonse would be the last one to stop him, if it actually got him some information worth knowing.

"I too know about the world beyond our own. I too seek something from the Gate between that world and this one, much like the Thule Society. There is a great change on the horizon, one that must be met by those with the knowledge and the courage to reach out take hold of it. I have my part to play in what is to come."

Hart held out his arm towards Alphonse in an indicative way. "I suspect you have your part to play as well, Alphonse. You, your brother, and your friend."

Al's eyes narrowed. Next to him, he heard Noah inhale sharply and Ed shift his weight in disbelief. How had Hart known his first name? Why had he pretended he didn't know them? Alphonse only had more questions spinning in his mind now; about just what kind of conspiracy Hart was hinting at, and what kind of part he thought the three of them had to play in it.

"You knew about the Elrics, Mr Hart? What is the meaning of this?!" Karl Harrer looked, if possible, even angrier than before, his pudgy face swelling and turning red in indignation.

Hart shook his head, pityingly. "Are you that surprised that I like to know as much about the bomb I want to buy as possible, including who else might be coming for it?"

"I don't take kindly to you playing us for fools, Mr Hart."

"Hardly fools, Mr Harrer, but you have no part in the scheme I mentioned. You did not need to know all the details of what I'm part of. All you needed to know was what I wanted, and what I could offer you. And I should appreciate if we can conclude our business. You will have all the means to conduct your war against your own country and people, all to acquire power, and I will have the means to achieve my own goals."

"I suddenly find the idea of doing business with you distasteful." Harrer slowly backed away from Hart, and his two guards, apparently understanding their master's motive, seemed ready to move on his command.

"What else are you hiding from us, Mr Hart? Perhaps you were hoping to take advantage of us with this meeting? I have to lead my men, the Society, back to a place of power in this country, without the help or influence of those who would use us for their own ends. First, the Nazis and their Fuhrer, and now you, Mr Hart. Always it seems that we, the true and right inheritors of the German state, are betrayed by the greedy and the self-interested."

Hart held his arms out, trying to placate Harrer, and he began to move slowly backwards, towards the crates of gold and weapons. "I am sad that you see it that way. I'm telling you that I am not your enemy, and I have no interest in trying to stop whatever plans you have. They are irrelevant to me. I would consider very carefully what you're about to do next."

Harrer glared at Hart intensely for a long moment, but then he seemed to relax. "I have. And I shall do what I planned to do since this deal was made."

Harrer didn't even need to give a signal or a command. The guard next to him holding his newly acquired machine gun brought it up pointing at Hart.

There was just enough time for the man's expression to change, and for him to move his hands behind his back, reaching for something. But he wasn't fast enough.

A flash from the gun and a deafening shot filled the air. Winslow Hart spun about himself, and a small spray of blood flew from his head. Alphonse grit his teeth as shock and disappointment filled his thoughts. He watched Hart's body collapse out of sight behind the end of the furthest table.

"What a waste of a man." Harrer commented snidely.

In his corner, Mr Sid cried out in alarm and sadness, but in drawing attention to himself, he realised his sudden vulnerability and threw himself behind the crates to hide from being shot at.

"You damn thugs!" Ed raised his voice, angry and biting, at Harrer. "You're always killing and taking what you want from anyone you please. All your words and delusions of righteousness, and you're all still just bullies and murderers."

"Don't think I've forgotten to deal with you, you insolent little cockroach." Harrer turned his head to look at Ed with a sickly smirk. "I'm going to enjoy killing you myself."

The man looked around at his men, all still watching on silently. "Pack up the gold and the guns, start getting them out onto the trucks. Bring the bomb, too. If there are others hoping to steal the secrets of Shamballa from us, having a weapon from that place might be to our advantage after all."

"What about his Indian lapdog?" the man with the machine gun asked coldly.

Harrer shrugged. "Put him down. I don't like having a sub-human creature like him knowing what he does about the bomb. Don't waste the bullets. Make him kneel and slit his throat."

"You heartless animal!" Noah's furious yell matched Alphonse's own disgust at Harrer's language.

"Oh, I'm not the animal here, gypsy. I've no time or mind to spare people like him, or like you, from what you deserve."

Alphonse curled his hands into fists in his lap. Even with the barrel of the gun hovering over him, promising a quick end if he tried anything, he wanted nothing more than to jump up and throw a punch at Harrer. He was clearly enjoying his feeling of control, loving every minute of it, and it made Alphonse itch to end that.

"After two years of you three hounding the Society, getting in our way, keeping us from focusing on our return to power, I cannot emphasise how happy I will be when you are all gone. I don't even know which one of you to start with; the man, the child, or the gypsy. If only I could take my time deciding…"

This was getting desperate. They could easily just start attacking between the three of them, plus Becker, but they needed that distraction if they going to get out of this alive. When were Eusebie's men going to kill the lights? They were running out of time! Someone must have heard the gunshot through the building, surely?

"Mr Harrer… Your man missed."

As the voice speaking growled from the other end of the room, Alphonse watched Harrer's face morph from triumph to confused surprise. He watched the man turn around over him, just in time for another gunshot to reverberate around the room. Then another, and another. With each shot, Harrer or one of his bodyguards jerked backwards, and blood sprayed from their heads against the wall behind Al and the others. A spike of adrenal shock went through him at the sight and sounds, and he watched in morbid astonishment as the leader of the Thule Society dropped to the ground, dead before he even realised it.

Alphonse saw beyond the corpse to where the shots had come from, and saw Winslow Hart, still alive, with a smoking pistol in his hand. The other hand clutched at a long, shallow gash that was gouged along the side of his head, and blood poured from it down into his suit. Somehow, his sunglasses were still on his face. With his wound, his teeth bared in a painful, mad grimace, and standing hunched over with gun held out in front of him, Hart cut a disturbing figure in the warm light.

"Now…" Hart's grimace twisted, for just a moment, into a psychotic grin. "Who's next?"

Every other soldier of the Thule Society drew or levelled their weapons at Hart. Next to the three of them, Becker gripped his gun and looked ready to turn on the thugs he had hidden amongst, none of them the wiser. Al balled his hands into fists while hostile eyes were turned, as did Edward and Noah, who reached in their jackets for their guns. Poking his head briefly over a crate and looking very frightened, Mr Sid looked ready to weep with surprise at seeing his master still standing.

The tension was electric, and for Alphonse it felt like everything froze for a long, nerve-wracking instant.

And then the lights went out, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

He should have expected the deal to go sour eventually. And he had, he supposed. Perhaps Winslow Hart should have been more careful than to just tell the truth to the Elrics like that. It would have saved him bringing this trouble on himself. No matter.

Now, he had to get the bomb, and to try and keep the Elrics safe at the same time. He wasn't surprised that they were here, wading into trouble like he expected. But they most likely had had help, and that didn't bode well for what he would have to do to ensure they could play their part in the plan.

So as the darkness startled everyone, and the bullets started firing, he leapt into action as he had trained to do for a lifetime and did as he needed to as the killing started.

* * *

It was like a fire had been lit under them. Al, Ed and Noah all leapt out and moved to fight. Next to them, Becker began shooting at the guards who had been watching them, and they died without so much as a chance to fire back.

The whole room was filled with the ear-splitting sound of rapid gunfire. Momentary flashes lit everything up with a strobe effect that made any movement look disjointed and strange.

Adrenaline pumped through Alphonse so hard that it hurt. Next to him, Edward used his automail arm to block a bullet meant for his head before returning fire.

Alphonse hunkered down and moved swiftly, sweeping the legs out from under a soldier in his way as he ducked and wove about, making a beeline for the bomb in its metal box. In the strobe effect of all the gunfire, Winslow Hart was also dodging and fighting back. Alphonse thought he had seen him tear his sunglasses off when the lights went out. Even with the lack of normal light, Hart was killing those he shot at consistently.

The heavies of the Thule Society were cornered and dangerous, but they had been taken by surprise, and being shot at and fought up close from five angles, and this combined with the shock of their leader's death meant any cohesion they had was gone.

Ed and Noah waded in the fight with Becker behind Al, both of them firing their own weapons and taking what cover they could. He left them to it. He needed to reach the bomb.

He managed to get to the table just as Winslow did the same. Indeed, his sunglasses were gone. The man fired a shot over Alphonse's head and made to grab the box.

"Hands off!" Alphonse shouted, and threw a kick at Hart's torso. It drove him back, but with a hand on the box, it sent the thing skidding off the table and across the floor. A shock of panic went through Alphonse, thinking any damage to the bomb might set it off. Thankfully, no explosion occurred, and the fear he had felt fuelled a further flurry of fighting in fine form.

To his surprise, Hart didn't try to back away. Instead, his eyes widened in alarm and he leapt towards Alphonse.

"Get down!" he shouted above the din, and he pushed Alphonse to the floor as he passed him.

Alphonse landed half under the table and looked up just in time to see Hart look briefly down at him, the lighting of the gunshots giving him glimpses of the unexpected relief on the man's face.

It also meant he had to watch as Winslow Hart was riddled with bullets standing over him.

Blood spattered everywhere on the floor next to Alphonse, coloured black in the darkness. As close as they were, he could just hear Hart exhale a wet, ragged breath before slumping backwards to the ground for the second time.

Hart landed with his head turned towards Alphonse, staring right at him in his death throes. In the dark, it was impossible to make out the details of Hart's eyes. Al was paralysed by shock, his own eyes bugging at the grisly tableau. Hart was shaking in pain, and more blood poured from his mouth as he struggled against his imminent demise.

"Again…" He managed to gurgle, and then his hand flew out to touch Alphonse's arm. "The bomb… Go!"

The sudden contact made Al's limbs obey him again. Without even thinking, he scrambled across the floor and made for the shadowed shape of the uranium bomb's metal box.

The gunshots were becoming fewer and fewer. The sounds of Ed and Noah exerting themselves as they fought up close became easier to make out. Al heard a set of footsteps coming up behind him and in front of him.

He reached the box on the floor and clung to it like a life raft. Above him, someone was breathing heavily. That was the moment that the lights came back on.

He looked up to see a wounded, but eerily calm soldier standing over him, his gun pointed up to the ceiling. With controlled reflex, Al moved his body around, sweeping the man's legs out from under him. The sudden attack made the soldier fire his gun on reflex, and the bullet lodged into a beam just above them both. The soldier collapsed to the ground without so much as a groan.

There was a little wail of fright next to him, and Alphonse watched and felt Mr Sid trip over his outstretched leg, landing in a heap between him and the soldier.

"Winslow! Winslow, no!" The well-dressed man cried out, and started dragging himself along the floor, closer to Winslow Hart's corpse. The soldier moved suddenly, now looking angry, and grabbed Mr Sid and spun him on his back, meaning to beat the poor man to death with his bare hands.

Alphonse had to intervene. "Leave him alone!" he yelled. Mr Sid looked at him, afraid and his eyes misty with sadness. The soldier turned as well, and his expression became that strange calm one again. Alphonse leapt at the soldier as Mr Sid reached out to him, apparently trying to stop him.

The three of them made contact at the same time. Alphonse blinked.

 _See, child._

Madness and chaos poured into his head. He forgot himself and his surroundings.

Where was he? When was he? He couldn't possibly know. All that he could feel was a great, unknowable presence encompassing him. He was consumed by a deep, instinctive fear; a need to run or to fight. A tingle ran up what might have been his spine. He didn't know if he had a spine anymore. Did he have a body? Were these eyes he saw out of? Were those eyes in their millions watching him now from every angle, unblinking and monstrous?

A sharpness invaded his being, but he couldn't even perceive his own body to know where or how. He couldn't stop it. He was an insect caught in a pair of tweezers and he had no idea how to fight back. He wanted to scream, but he was helpless to even do that. He truly felt like an animal. The probing presence took hold of him, some fundamental part of who he was, and pulled. It came away easy, easier than he would ever have wanted, and he felt pain. How could he feel pain without a body? He was going insane, and he felt like he was dying.

 _Be free._

Some new presence came upon him, and its otherness was all-consuming, but this did not feel unpleasant. The maelstrom of confusion and terror fell away and calmed, and Alphonse remembered himself where the flood had left him drifting.

The new presence made him feel filtered and cleansed of something foul inside him. Through eyes he wasn't even sure were real, he saw flashes of places unknown to him. He felt a deep, mysterious pride and affection that filled him up like a warm drink on a cold night.

And then, with stark clarity, he beheld a lingering image of the Gate of Truth that he had seen enough times in his life already. The doors swung open, and a bright light shone out of it, blotting the Gate from Alphonse's vision and blinding him completely.

 _Know._

The words reached Alphonse's mind without his ears ever hearing them. No voice spoke them, yet he knew the thoughts were not his own.

 _Enlightenment will come. Know my presence, as I know yours._

Alphonse blinked again.

He was back in the Pension Moritz, lying on the ground on top of the strange soldier. The man wasn't breathing. His face was blank and his eyes still open, staring at Alphonse unsettlingly. Mr Sid was next to him, his hand on Alphonse's shoulder. The man still looked shocked and worried, but now for Alphonse.

"What happened? Are you alright, young man?" Sid's quavered.

Alphonse cried out in alarm, unable to process what had happened to him, acting on animal instinct to get away from the dead body and Mr Sid.

"Al! Hey, get away from him!" Edward's angry bellow preceded Edward himself rushing at the pair of them and making to grab Mr Sid. The man didn't resist, and he was dragged up to his knees by the scruff of his tailored shirt as Ed aimed his left fist at him.

"Please, no please, I swear I didn't hurt him! I don't know what happened, but he wanted to keep me safe!" Sid put his hands up and shook his head emphatically as he babbled.

"Then what's got him spooked, huh?!"

"I don't know, sir! I don't know anything! Please, I'm just a servant, I-" Then the man stopped, and his breath hitched. "Mr Hart!"

Sid struggled against Ed's grip and looked to the ruined body of Winslow Hart. As Alphonse had dashed for the bomb, the man had turned onto his stomach and half-crawled under the table. He wasn't moving anymore, though.

Ed initially held onto Mr Sid's shirt, his automail arm unyielding, but the man's hysteria changed his expression from anger to hesitation. Alphonse couldn't blame him. No matter the circumstances, Mr Sid's despair was heart-breaking.

"Let him go, Ed." Alphonse surprised himself with his statement. Edward easily complied, and Mr Sid flew past him to kneel by the sad remains of Winslow Hart.

Al fully expected the man to wail over his master's death, to yell and make a spectacle in the middle of the carnage on the room. If anything, his actual reaction was more depressing.

Mr Sid became very quiet and very still, like a man lost in his own head at the loss he had suffered. He held out a hand and placed it on Hart's remains. Then he bowed his head forward and began shaking gently as he silently wept. Tears fell to the floor and mingled with the pool of Hart's blood Mr. Sid was now kneeling in.

In feeling for Hart's servant in his grief, Alphonse couldn't help but feel for Hart himself, despite the man's actions and intentions. He'd had a chance to observe Hart through snippets and scraps of information and left him pondering what to expect. Some of what he had seen had matched those expectations, but…

He thought about Winslow's readiness to push him to safety, to take a hail of gunfire in Alphonse's place. At the very end, he'd chosen Alphonse's safety over a chance to take the bomb he had desired and fight his way to freedom. It was, ultimately, just one act of genuine good in the midst of a lot of morally dubious intentions, but the fact that this one choice had proved as terminally definitive as it had gave Alphonse pause for thought.

And just what had he meant by 'again'?

"He was good to me…" Mr Sid finally said, sounding desperately lost. "For all the things he did, and the people he chose to deal with, he has always done right by me."

As respectfully as he could manage, Mr Sid took off his coat and draped it over Hart's body, before he gathered him up in his arms and stood. He turned and looked at Edward and Alphonse. Behind him, Noah and Rudi Becker approached. Both looked roughed up, and both had blood on their clothes that may or may not have been their own.

"We're clear. Not bad, all of you." Becker said, then inclined his head towards Mr Sid. "Did Mr Eusebie give you any instructions for dealing with Hart and any accomplices."

"No. I'm not sure what he'd want us to do." Ed said, frowning.

"Let me take Mr Hart home." Mr Sid remarked decisively.

"Just let you go? With everything you've seen, everything you're involved in now?"

"I was Mr Hart's servant and friend, Mr Elric, not his equal nor his successor. Right now. none of his plans matters to me. Winslow did, and now…"

Mr Sid took a deep, shaky breath as he was briefly overwhelmed.

"And now I just want to take him home, do right by his remains, and sort out his estate. I want no more part in tonight's bloodshed. I've lost enough as it is. And you can take the damn bomb, take it and do whatever you will. And the gold, and the guns, all of it! Those things don't matter. I just want to get away from this place and take my friend away with me."

Maybe it wasn't the wisest thing to let the man go, but Alphonse felt very strongly that it would be the right thing to do. He couldn't shake the feeling of doing right by this broken, sad old man who had just lost someone close to him. Judging by Edward and Noah's expressions, they were inclined to agree.

"I don't think you should let him go." Becker spoke curtly, talking to the Elrics both. "He's a key witness to tonight's events. He's seen too much, and he knows too much. How are we supposed to just take him at his word? We can't know what he's thinking."

"As a matter of fact, we can." Noah stepped forward, replying to Becker's assertation. "I can."

She held out a hand to Mr Sid's shoulder, hesitating for a moment as if to offer him a chance to back away. He remained where he was, and she touched him lightly, closing her eyes.

Alphonse worried if she might undergo the same unreal experience he had. There was a quiet moment where everyone seemed to hold their breath. Then, opening her eyes, Noah calmly lifted her hand and stepped away, looking none the worse for wear.

"He's telling the truth." Noah said at last. Alphonse felt himself exhale at last. "His memories can't lie, even if his words could have. He doesn't know enough for us to worry about him. We gain nothing by keeping him prisoner, we have what we came for, and we have enough work to do cleaning this place up."

Becker scrutinised Noah deeply, obviously not understanding what had just happened.

"It's alright, Becker." Ed was quick and casual in reassuring the man. "Noah has a unique gift, and I trust her judgement."

Alphonse was sure he saw a small smile twitch across Noah's mouth for a second.

Becker shrugged and shouldered his gun. "Alright then, it's your call. Mr Eusebie's not here to say no, so I won't stop you. But you'll have to explain your choice to him and hope he's okay with it."

"Yeah, sure. I'll talk with him." Ed waved a hand dismissively. Then he turned to Mr Sid. "Alright, we'll get you out of here. Let you take Hart with you. Try and forget you had anything to do with all this. It's for the best."

"I will, don't worry." Mr Sid was much calmer now, but his grief was still raw and obvious. "Just… Whatever you or this Eusebie fellow are planning with the bomb, please don't let the its power go to your heads. To have that much pure destruction ready in your hands… It wasn't meant for any one man or woman to possess."

"Trust us, we have plenty of experience with things like that. No-one's gonna use this bomb once we get rid of it." Al replied. He wouldn't tell Mr Sid about all their long adventures and trails searching for the Philosopher's Stone, but the memory of it inside Al, he hoped, gave some weight to his reassurance.

With that, Ed, Al and Noah all escorted the man out of the ruined, corpse-strewn hall, forging the path to back outside the Pension Moritz and into the cold autumn night. As they went, Al's gaze fell again on the remains of Winslow Hart, his face covered by Mr Sid's coat. All the death that had occurred tonight, and it was Hart's that gave him pause. He knew rationally why that was, but he still felt sad that their journey to find him had ended so unfulfilled and so abruptly. Even though they finally had the bomb, the fruit of years of searching, the whole affair savoured of anti-climax. Alphonse could only stew on his thoughts as he went about his business.

* * *

As the last of the gunshots from inside the grand boarding house had ceased, and a few men had come to tell him the area was clear, and the bomb secured, Eusebie had finally made his way down the hill to see things for himself.

Becker had come out with the box containing the device and briefed him on what had happened inside the hotel dining room.

As the man talked, Eusebie saw the Elrics and their companion escorting someone away from the site. He couldn't make out who it was but saw them carrying what looked like a body in their arms. Becker told him that the corpse was Winslow Hart's, and the man carrying him was the late businessman's servant. Eusebie felt a twinge of relief at the knowledge.

He was certain that Hart had been working for his enemy, but even if he hadn't, he had been a potential threat that Eusebie would have found hard to ignore. No matter who Hart had been, he was gone, and now Eusebie had the uranium bomb safely with him at last. He didn't perceive any problems arising from a mere servant, and the Elrics had their ways of checking that sort of thing as well, so he was content to let the stranger go.

He imagined that, after their short but intense history with the Thule Society, the Elrics would be glad to see their last ragged remains utterly extinguished. There might be plenty of successors and echoes of that groups ideals in Germany now, but the Society itself was going to be nothing more than a sour memory now. Not that he had cared much about anything they had done, but they too had been a threat that was now conveniently dealt with.

He would content himself with having his men start cleaning up the mess here and getting in contact with the owner of the Pension Moritz to sort out some kind of reparation. Eusebie reasoned that they could use some their newly appropriated gold for that. After all, Winslow Hart wasn't going to need it anymore.

* * *

 _Author's notes_

 _A slightly longer chapter than the rest, but there was more to fit in this one scene, and I've had this particular chapter's events playing through my head since I began this fic. It's one of the 'pivotal moment' scenes I keep envisioning, so that's my excuse for it being a little longer than the others. I hope you enjoy the narrative turns in this one. There are always a few elements of my writing I fret over, but I hope the overall experience still works._

 _I suspect I will not be writing as much as I'm even doing currently over the next few weeks, as Christmas just happens to be a thing in my home. Some writing will be done, rest assured, but if it takes more than my usual month and a bit to get a chapter out, you will know why.  
_

 _Trivia time:_

 _The Pension Moritz boarding house was a real location in the Bavarian Alps, founded in 1878 by one_ _Mauritia Mayer. During it's history, it was visited by several notable members of the Thule Society and Nazi party, including Adolf Hitler, who completed the manuscript for_ Mein Kampf _while staying there in 1925; renamed Platterhof in 1928 by a new owner; taken over and used by the Nazis as a private retreat from 1933; partially rebuilt; destroyed in 1945 by bombing raids; rebuilt and renamed again to the General Walker hotel in 1952 to be used as an American Armed Forces Recreation Center; turned over to the Bavarian government in 1996 and finally demolished in 2001._

 _I did what I could to study the exterior of the Pension Moritz as it appeared at roughly the time this story is set historically, and the description of the little hills and the road to and from it is true to the references I found. No images or drawings exist of the interior, so I had to make up the layout and furnishings for myself.  
_

 _Karl Harrer has been mentioned in a previous set of these notes. In real life, he died in September of 1926, almost a year after the events depicted here. Since Fullmetal Alchemist 2003 and Conqueror of Shamballa both play a little fast and loose with established historical details, and considering the nature of this story, I felt that making this choice was acceptable._

 _I realised only as I was halfway through this chapter that I had a perfect moment to do a title drop for CoS in a light-hearted way, and I couldn't resist_ _._

 _A happy holiday season to you all. Next update in the new year!_


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